Not an Obligation
by Everythingisawesome001
Summary: She was as low maintenance as possible. But that didn't mean that she didn't want to be taken care of by him. Grace Everest Holmes was Sherlock Holmes' 8-year-old daughter. She had been fending for herself her whole life while her father probably hated her. She worked hard to take care of herself, until one day she realizes she couldn't go on thinking everything was okay.
1. Chapter 1

Hi **Fellows! I'm back with a new story. I hope you like it 3. I know that there may be some inaccuracies with the deduction and such but I'm not Sherlock so I hope you understand. It's only to keep the story going.**

 _Homework? I did it at recess._

 _Teacher's notes? In the box._

 _Clothes? Washed._

 _Anything missing..._

 _Groceries._

 _Uh-oh._ Grace sighed as she twisted the key and entered the flat, shaking the snow off her curly, raven hair and pulling off her scuffed faux fur boots. She rubbed her raw red hands together as she sighed as she wished that she had enough money to go and get herself a new hat and maybe a scarf and mittens but she could barely afford food with the money she had let alone new clothes.

Her father would just roll his eyes and tell her to endure it while going into some rant on how people in his homeless network didn't even have shoes, let alone a scarf.

She placed her old _Cars_ bag down next to the couch where she was less than surprised to see an eyeball floating in a glass of water on the coffee table as well as her father staring straight up at the ceiling without a motion of acknowledgment at the eight-year-old girl that had just walked in. She looked at him with curiosity hoping that he would snap out of his demeanor and see her standing there. But it was kind of futile.

 _-Welcome home, Grace._

 _Thanks, daddy._

 _-I'm sorry you had to walk home alone today. But there was a very busy case and I just couldn't make it back in time._

 _It's okay daddy. I was fine. I'm glad that winter break has started. Now we can spend some time together._

She did that a lot. She played conversations in her head of what she imagined happening when she got home from school every day rather than being accustomed to the same silence day in and day out. She walked into the kitchen only to find that there was no bread or jam left to eat. She went on her hunt to find some food while avoiding the severed limbs.

She could have gone down to Mrs. Hudson but she didn't like being pitied. Then she would come up and chide her dad and then he would glare at Grace. In the end, she'd be too upset in herself to eat anyways. On her trek, she didn't notice the door opening.

"Hello Grace," she turned to see John at the door holding a wrapped sandwich in his hand.

"Hi John," she sighed. She also didn't like asking John for stuff because her dad once accused her on taking advantage of his best friend. He may have just said it during a deduction where he can't help some of the inquiries he makes but it made her feel needy all the same.

But that didn't stop her from taking the sandwich when he offered it to her. She unwrapped it and took a bite of Mary's delicious egg salad. She murmured a thank you when she was done halfway.

She remembered when she first got here two years ago. Alone and scared. John was the only one that cared for her for the first few weeks. Of course, Mary as well but he was the first to look at her like something special

Her mother wasn't all too keen on keeping her and she let her know it for as long as she could remember. But she assumed that once upon a time before she had hit the drugs, her mother had cared for her. But then with her boyfriends came her need to get high. She hit her when she spoke up or cried and her boyfriends did the same. She left horrible smelling drugs all over the place and never once fed her properly. When she was six, her mother seemed to have had enough of her.

Flashback

 _"Get in the car, Grace, I won't ask again!" The grown woman yelled as she shoved the little girl towards the run down Honda. She complied this time, knowing that if she didn't then her mother would give her a beating._

 _She scuttled in the back and brought her knees into her rapidly beating chest. The woman shoved a backpack with Lightning McQueen and his friends at her before going around to the drivers' seat. As soon as her mother got in, they were off._

 _Ten minutes into the ride, Grace found her voice. She noticed the white powder on her jacket sleeve and immediately knew that she was high. She wasn't thinking straight._

 _"Mum, where are we going," she whispered timidly._

 _"You're good for nothing father's house. I can't have you and my drugs. Fucking neighbours keep coming to check on you, they're gonna find my shit someday. You're gonna get me arrested someday, kid. I need you gone. Sherlock can have ya," she grumbled._

 _Grace didn't say a word but her tears said it all. Once they reached the heart of London, her mother left her in front of a cozy looking apartment building on Baker Street._

 _She noticed the way that the water droplets on the stairs indicated someone having gone up, them recently dripping wet with the rain outside and decided it was her best chance at finding some help._

 _She slowly climbed up the stairs with her bag and knocked on the door of 221B. The door was opened by a kind looking lady._

Bad hip. Not the maid. Just the landlady. But nice enough to sometimes be a maid. _Her head told her. She looked out of place with her tattered jeans and over-sized hoodie. She must have been crazy to be out in the rain with no form of protection._

 _"I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. "_

EndFlashback

Then it all came to this. His dad made it clear on the first day that she wasn't welcome at Baker Street either but he didn't have much of a choice considering nearly everyone was telling him that he couldn't give her up for adoption. So she was there but not that he noticed. Things just seemed to take care of themselves for her.

Even Uncle Mycroft said that it was as though she didn't even exist. She was probably not supposed to hear that and he didn't mean it in a way that was meant to make her feel bad but rather try to persuade his brother to acknowledge the little girl more. But it did sting.

John was around sometimes. But he had a new baby boy of his own to take care of. He didn't always have time to be over these days. Leaving her to take matters into her own hands.

"You really should just come and stay at our house, Grace. At least I know that you're being fed there," John contemplated. Grace just shook her head.

"You don't have to do that John. I'm fine. You have to take care of Adam and Mary. Daddy takes care of me when he can," she shrugged off. She technically wasn't lying. Her dad did buy groceries when he remembered and gave her some money last week. She was saving up to buy herself that hat but it seemed that she needed some food instead.

She coughed lightly but it was followed by another until she fell into a fit. John immediately began to pat her on the back. It racked up her small frame and she coughed until her throat hurt. When she stopped she hopes her didn't interrupt the man on the couch.

"What on earth was that?" John cried while his doctor instincts took place and he scanned her body for any signs of wounds. Grace just shook it off by vaguely saying something about needing to take smaller bites.

"Alright, well, just drink some water and rest yourself up. You look tired. I just stopped by to hand you that sandwich. I need to get to work. Bye, Love," he said as he flew out the door but he slowly walked back in again, "And do me a favour and stay indoors. Your dad and I aren't sure what is going on but a lot of people have been going missing lately," and he was off again.

Grace sighed as she went to pick up her bag again before heading off to her room. Her room was pretty ordinary. She didn't have any personal touches or knickknacks other than the pencil holder filled with pens and the pad of paper that sat at her desk. She didn't want to ask her dad to buy her things in hopes that she could avoid criticism.

She didn't have many clothes either but she didn't complain because it was more than she has had in her whole life. Absolutely no toy or electronic could be found. Upon first entering the flat, one would assume that there wasn't a child living there at all and Grace hoped to keep it that way so her dad wouldn't have a reason to hate her like her mother did for it.

She pulled out her agenda to take out the recent notes from her school nurse and her teacher

 _Dear Mr. Holmes,_

 _I am concerned and surprised to see that Grace Everest Holmes has not recovered at all from the cold that she had last week. If anything, we believe that it is getting worse. We advise you take her to the doctor because this seems to be worsening by the day._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Ms. Blembly_

 _School Nurse_

 _Dear Mr. Holmes,_

 _We are still awaiting your confirmation for the parent-teacher conference as we wish to discuss some important issues regarding Grace._

 _Please ensure that she is properly dressed for the winter. She has been feeling quite tired and feverish from time to time._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mr. Morgen_

Grace didn't bother reading it has she pulled out the shoebox from under her bed and places the note inside along with the many other forms she got from school.

She didn't really know why she kept them. Maybe she liked to pretend that someday her father would come in and ask her about her life and she could be honest knowing that he wouldn't judge her. Or maybe she just liked having the secret from her genius father.

 _I should get some groceries. John can't bring me sandwiches every day._

She walked to her closet and pulled out a Mason Jar from behind the small bump in the carpeting. She pulled out the five dollar bill and the rest of the change.

 _£5.50. Enough for food for two weeks._

 _..._

She pulled on her gray coat and pulled on her soaking wet boots. She walked down to the grocery store that was a couple blocks down from the flat. She knew she should have listened to John but she really needed the food. She entered and was about to make it to the bread isle when...

"Ah! Grace, my dear, what are you doing here," a voice called. She turned to see Mycroft coming towards her with a basket filled with fruits and vegetables.

 _He's in the bread section and his basket is filled with fruit that's five isles down. He wouldn't go there only to head back for bread._

"Hi Uncle Mycroft," she said with an unsure smile, "Why were you waiting for me?"

She figured she should get to the point. He clearly wanted something.

"You're clearly your father's daughter," he smirked. His smile quickly was wiped off of his face when he remembered what he wanted to tell her, "I don't know if John has told you but one of our old enemies is back. I don't want you coming out here alone like you've been doing. Ask John or Sherlock if you need anything. According to me, you shouldn't be out here alone anyways."

Grace knew that her uncle meant well but it was plain to see that he wasn't all too fond of her either. She wasn't surprised. She was an unwanted child. Her mother and father didn't want her. So why would he be concerned with her?

The only Holmes' that seemed to care about her wellbeing would be gran and gramps. But they were somewhere in Europe at the moment, traveling now that they no longer had young kids to take care of.

"Alright then, Uncle Mycroft, I'll just grab some food and be on my way-" she was interrupted by the older man.

"Don't bother, I had someone leave some groceries back at the apartment. Enough for three weeks. I suspect that Mor- that the criminal will be caught soon," he said before turning around and walking away.

Grace registered what he said before a huge smile had sat on her face. If she had enough food for the next few weeks that meant that she could buy her hat and even a pair of mitts. She scurried out of the store and headed to the thrift shop across the street with a little jump in her step across the slush covered streets of London.

She opened the door and stepped inside and happily stared at the rows of knitted hats and scarves. The old lady sitting at the register welcomed her warmly as she wandered into the store.

She made her way to the back of the store where she found a basket filled with hats and other items at lower prices.

She carefully picked out a snug-looking mahogany coloured hat and was delighted to see a matching scarf a few baskets down. She was even more delighted to see that she could buy them both and still have money left over for a pair of mittens.

She picked out a pair of light blue mittens and once she was pleased with her choice, she took it to the register.

"Preparing for the winter, I see. Is your mum or dad waiting outside for you, dear?" The lady asked as she scanned the items, "that'll be 4.50."

Grace avoided the question by vaguely mentioning something about her dad waiting in the car around the corner because she wanted to prove to him that she could go to the store by herself. She threw in a naive child's voice to make it more convincing and as luck would have it, the lady began to coo her and remark at how grown up she was.

After being handed her change, she thanks the lady quickly before pulling off the tabs and putting on her newly acquired articles of clothing. As she wrapped the scarf around her neck she smiled triumphantly as she thought about how this would be a warm winter after all.

She had just turned the corner when she saw a man huddled up next to the small building rubbing his raw, red hands together. She took the last pound she received as change and offered it to the man.

 _I don't need it, I got what I needed. He needs it more._

The man gratefully took it from her hand and continued to surprise him when she took the scarf from around her neck and placed it around his neck.

"Keep warm. My dad needs you," she said kindly. She knew that meant that she would have to wait until she could get a new one but she knew he needed it more. She may have looked a somewhat homeless herself with her woolen trench coat and her sopping wet shoes that were clearly not made for the weather but she knew what she had.

She turned around and continued her way home.


	2. Chapter 2

She came home to find everyone yelling. She could make out Lestrade, John, Anderson, Mary and Sherlock.

"You freak! Stop talking about my knees!" And Sally.

She walked into the room, vaguely aware of the grocery bags sitting on the kitchen counter next to the skull that her father loved so much. When they realized that the little girl had come in, they all stopped talking.

Anderson muttered something to Lestrade about telling her but Mary was the first one to actually address her directly.

"Sweetheart, hello! Adam has been dying to see you all day. He's napping in Sherlock's room. How about you go and wake him up before he ruins his bedtime," she said sweetly. But Grace could hear the nervousness hiding underneath. It was obvious that it had to do with me and the worst thoughts ran through my head first.

 _They're sending me to a foster home._

 _They're all sick of me._

 _My mom probably came back and now is going to take me away again._

My head snapped up to look at my dad in question. He stared back with the regular calculating face trying to deduce something about me no doubt.

"What's going on?" I demanded. John was going to answer me vaguely, no doubt, but my dad beat him to it.

"Someone wants to kill you. I doubt that you've failed to hear about Moriarty at some point while staying here but he's back and after you," he handed me a note and watched me carefully as I read the neatly written words on the prim piece of paper.

 _I'm coming after the princess this time, Sherlock. Snow White has to meet the evil queen for the story to begin._

 _Kisses,_

 _M._

A shiver ran down my spine and my head began to feel dizzy. I took a step back in shock and would have tripped if Lestrade hadn't caught me.

"Sherlock!" Sally seethed.

"There's no point of hiding it. Someone's after her and she can't have things sugarcoated her whole life. Consider it a parenting technique," he answered with a roll of his eyes. I turned to look at him with my eyes wide open hoping that he would try and offer me some comfort. But I didn't get any of it. Lestrade steadied me back on my feet and gave me a sec to breathe before Mary spoke up again.

"Winter Break started today, didn't it Grace?" Mary asked. Grace only nodded hesitantly, "Then you don't have any reason to go out. You have to stay in the flat. Your father, John and I will be busy most of the time but Mrs. Hudson will be here to look after you."

"She's not going to be here. She's gonna be on vacation in Bora Bora," Grace couldn't help but mutter, her head and throat were hurting but she was too scared to say anything during the current issue still at hand. John's face dropped at the new piece of information.

"Bloody hell, what bad timing. Okay well, then what can we do. Mary and I are working most of the day. Adam is usually left with the babysitter but she won't be able to defend Grace from Moriarty."

"She stays here," a deep baritone announced calmly. They all turned to see Sherlock who was studying the skull, "She can go on cases with me and she usually is preoccupied at home. I'll be here most days unless we get a lead so until then she'll be fine here."

"So it's settled then. Grace, dear, how about you go to sleep. We'll take Adam and pop off. We can discuss the details when we get a lead," John said in hopes of dissipating the tension in the room. She knew it was best not to argue, not that she had the energy to do so, so she turned around obediently and left the room.

"If anything happens to that little girl, Sherlock, Scotland Yard will have your head on a stick," Anderson had spoken for the first time the whole evening and Sherlock couldn't help but resent that he didn't keep his mouth shut. Grace ignored the comment and went to her room.

Upon entering, she realized how cold it was in there. The window seal was broken and the cold winter wind was rushing inside. With a sigh, she changed into her well-worn pajamas before crawling into bed and trying to cuddle up to the best of her abilities.

Then with a tonne of difficulty she fell asleep thinking about Snow White and her poisonous apple.

...

It was three hours since everyone had left when Sherlock heard a scream of desperation and upmost fear coming from his daughter's room.

"Daddy!"

Sherlock, who was in the middle of examining the eyeball in the glass of sorbic acid, dropped the tools in his hands and ran to the room down the hall and crashed through the door to her room. He found the eight-year-old in bed coughing heavily and looking traumatized. Tears were gathering in her eyes as she tried to calm herself down before they could fall.

He glanced at the window wide open and letting in a turmoil of icy wind. He went to close it, only to find the seal being broken so he left it half shut.

"What happened?" The consulting detective demanded. But she was still unable to talk.

 _Shortness of breath._

 _Excessive coughing._

 _Pale skin._

 _Ignorant girl had a cold that ripened for the past 9 days._

But other than that, his mind palace ran up a blank. He could just barely read her, much to his chagrin. He waited for her coughing to seize before he repeated his question.

"T-there was someone in here. T-They were looking for something when I w-woke up and saw t-them. T-they p-pointed a g-gun at me a-and told me to scream. Then they ran out the window. I-I'm sorry but I-I couldn't help it. I'm sorry," she gasped out, a single tear fell down her face but she wiped it away hoping her father could ignore it.

He did.

He looked around for _anything_. Anything that could be a clue. He checked out the window only to find that the roads were clear.

"He threw this on m-my bed," she timidly said, holding a red rose towards him. He swiped it from her hand and noticed that it smelled an awful lot like...

"Ash. Wood burned to be precise. They're hiding in a manufacturing plant of some sort, Moriarty no doubt," he turned around to walk out and elaborate on his findings when Grace spoke with sheer panic in her voice.

"Don't leave!" She cried causing Sherlock to turn around and look at her, "Please. Not in here. Not alone. C-can I sleep in the living room? I'll be silent."

Sherlock looked into her blue-green eyes staring into his and he gave a sharp nod. He didn't think he wanted her to be alone at that moment either. He waited for to grab her quilt and pillow and allowed her to leave the room before walking out behind her, shutting the door firmly.

Upon making it to the living room, he removed the tools lying on the love seat before leaving her to get settled. True to her word, she didn't make a noise as she put down her pillow, climbed up and settled into the green quilt that her grandparents had made for their granddaughter.

She turned towards the back of the seat and according to Sherlock, was asleep instantly.

But as he got back to work, with the lights dimmed, he didn't notice that there were unknown tears running down the cheek of the scared child.

When she did manage to sleep, she had nightmares about red roses and running through the woods.

...

She woke up the next morning to find the flat quiet and she feared that her father may have forgotten what he was meant to do and gone out without her. She got up and looked around and was surprised to see Molly Hooper in the kitchen. She noticed the small girl's movement and waved to her.

"Good morning, Grace! Your dad popped out for a bit so I'm here to make you breakfast. What do you think about pancakes?" Said the peppy pathologist.

"Where's daddy?" She asked, ignoring the offer for breakfast. Molly gave her a little smile and flipping the perfectly round pancake.

"He apparently got a lead. He went to go check it out and he asked me to take care of you so of course I couldn't help but say yes," she said with a slightly bitter tone. But upon looking at the genius little girl, she perked right back up, "I found blueberries and strawberries. I made both kinds!"

Grace gave a nod and sat down on the table. As they ate, she listened to Molly talk about visiting her parents for Christmas in Wales and how she was glad because she had been saving up all of her day-offs and would be there for a whole month.

"Hopefully, Sherlock won't need any access to the morgue. Micah most definitely will not give Sherlock freeway no matter what. Micah can be a lazy fool, honestly, he absolutely hates doing the paperwork!"

Grace had finished eating when she had begun to feel unwell. Her head was spinning and she felt really cold all of a sudden, "I think I'm going to go lie down, Molly. I didn't get a very good sleep last night. Enjoy your vacation."

Molly frowned as she looked at Grace trying her very hardest to keep upright, "Sweetheart, I may be a pathologist, but I have a degree in medicine as well. I know living people and you don't look like a healthy one. Perhaps-"

"Please. Don't call Daddy. He has so much on his mind and I'm not important. It's nothing more than a cold."

Molly's frown deepened as she realized just what the girl was implying. She knew that Sherlock wouldn't have been thrilled with the prospect of a daughter but he definitely didn't want her dead or ill or sad. Even if he didn't realize it all the time, "I told your dad this many years ago, Grace, but they can see you. When you think no one is watching, someone knows that you are suffering and that is an okay," Grace stayed silent but Molly knew she hit the nail on the head, "You are sad and you are unwell. It may be difficult with your dad being who he is. But sometimes you have to put yourself first, ok?"

With that, Molly grabbed her jacket and calmly opened the door. As if she had timed it, Sherlock looked like he was about to the turn the knob and walk in. With a pleasant greeting, she walked out.

They watched as she adjusted her coat and scarf and walked down the flight of stairs. She paused as she reached the bottom and turned to address Grace before she left.

"Hey, Grace. Your birthday is coming up too, isn't it? Birthday and Christmas on the same day. How exciting! I'll get you something from Wales. Well, Happy Birthday and Christmas, Sweetheart. Happy Christmas to you too, Sherlock. See you both after the holidays."

With a final wave, she let herself out. The flat seemed oddly silent with her gone.

Grace gave a small, feeble cough and turned to go lie down. Sherlock didn't say a word to her. She laid down on the couch and closed her eyes before everything went dark once again.

Sherlock turned to the quiet child briefly before taking out the latest threat from Moriarty. He didn't want Grace to know about today otherwise she would be living in a constant state of paranoia.

 _Flashback_

 _Sherlock looked over the body with striking interest. It was a stupid encrypted text that led him to this run down shack in the first place and he was more than surprised with Lestrade pointed out the dead girl in the middle of the room._

 _She hadn't been dead for more than 2 days and she was dressed in an old sundress that was most definitely not made for the bitter cold of the winter. But that wasn't the most striking thing about her._

 _It was obvious to every person in this room that the fresh corpse held a noticeable resemblance to Grace Everest Homes. She had the curly black hair and the petit build. It wasn't painfully alike but enough to know that she was put there on purpose for the consulting detective to find._

 _"Sherlock, that girl. She looks like-"_

 _"Yes, John. I know. She had been staged her for us to find. Orphan girl. Disappeared from Elman Street Orphanage for Girls last week._ _She died of natural causes, hypothermia, but her corpse was definitely planted there. She has to have some sort of clue on her. Moriarty wouldn't leave her just for the fun of it."_

 _"Sherlock, it's fine if you don't want to check her over. We can get Anderson down here in a jiff," Lestrade offered._

 _Sherlock shook his head albeit slowly. But John could see the hesitance. In the first time in his life, he had seen him unsure about a murder, "Anderson is a moron. I'll... I can do it."_

 _She approached the girl and let his eyes scan over her while drowning out Lestrade's calls to the hospital. It took him a moment to realize that this wasn't his daughter._

 _'She doesn't have that birthmark on her neck and her hair is too short. She's an orphan and not Grace.' He lifted her eyelid and let out a final sigh of relief. Her eyes were brown. 'She's not Grace.'_

 _A couple seconds of deduction lead him into the pocket of her sundress where he found another note._

 _They let the ambulance take her body to the morgue and everyone left. But the images of the little girl and his own daughter were not far from his eyes._

EndFlashback

He glanced at the note again.

 _I hope my man didn't scare our princess too much. We were only looking for some buried treasure. We can't wait to see her._

 _M_

He angrily tossed the note down onto the table and grabbed his phone. After sending a quick text to John and Lestrade. He laid down on the other couch across from the one his daughter was currently utilizing and let himself fall into his Mind Palace.

He needed to think this through.


	3. Chapter 3

**She's More Than That Pt. 3**

It had been two days since they started the hunt for Moriarty and every time they had reached a clue, it seemed to lead them to nowhere. All the notes involved princesses and evil queens and were all ending with a blasted M. But they didn't give any other detail aside from the threat that Grace would be kidnapped soon. The investigation fizzled out and it became less of a concern for the police to track him down. He hadn't done anything of concern besides the notes and some currently assumed he was just trying to get Sherlock riled up.

But as focused as they were on keeping Grace safe, it seemed as though she was being neglected some what. Little by little, all the food in the house disappeared and she was left growing slightly thinner and thinner as the days went, especially with all those people currently visiting the flat to discuss Moriarty. The only time she would eat was when they went on a case of some sort and Sally would offer her a granola bar or some fruit out of worry for her health.

Of course, when Sally tried to bring it up with Sherlock, he would scoff and dismiss her completely. Grace stayed silent and let the hunger pass over her without interrupting anybody around her.

She was also getting more sick and she sometimes had trouble breathing but she still didn't say a word. She knew that it would only result in trouble. Her sleep schedule was also disrupted with the horrors of her nightmare making it difficult to sleep off whatever bug was affecting her.

It was getting colder and her attire often did not protect against the cold but she didn't dare complain considering her father never once commented on the horrible weather so she assumed that it was another thing Holmes' should not worry about.

When she was to stay at home, she was left alone with Anthea who- as nice as she was- was not smartest of Uncle Mycroft's workers. She often spent more time gossiping with her friends on her cell or watching soap operas on the telly. But Uncle Mycroft had insured that should a fight occur, she would be able to protect.

Grace was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book about the greatest crimes in history when she heard her father calling for her. She placed the book down and put on the old knit pullover that was hanging on the chair before walking into the front hall where her father was waiting for her.

"Come on. We're going to go take up a case today. There had been a chain link of murders, all taking place in a library. It's Christmas after all," he said with a grin, tossing her winter coat to her. She clumsily caught it and put it on followed by her hat, mittens and boots. She grimaced at how worn they were and how they were damp and freezing but did not express her opinion.

They ventured towards the plaza a few blocks away from their house where the grocery store was located and there was already a team of police officers crowding around the neighbouring library which no doubt had a current population of one corpse. Sherlock didn't give Grace a second look as he walked into the crime scene.

No one did.

Grace sighed and decided to go venturing. She hadn't been left alone. She always had someone whether it be John or Mary or Lestrade or another police officer. Even Anderson was assigned to take care of her at one point. He just complained about Sherlock and how he wasn't as great as everyone thought he was and that he was going to end up trumping him someday.

Grace took to crossing the street to the thrift shop across the street and she entered happily.

But the happiness lasted a short amount of time. She turned to greet the lady at the register but to her surprise, she was gagged and bounded. Her eyes widened and she let out a muffled warning to Grace.

Grace made a move to turn around and run out but the door was blocked by a big brute of a guy. Before she could scream, there was a sharp blow to the back of her head and everything black. A lone sentence traveled through her ear before she could go unconscious.

"We found our princess."

...

"What do you mean you cannot find her?" Sherlock growled menacingly at the bunch of police officers, "How does 'London's Finest' lose an eight-year-old girl? You imbeciles!"

John held him back before he could actually attack someone. The officers nervously looked at one another and one looked close to faint.

"Sherlock. How could you not have noticed that she was gone until after you got home?"

"I was running off of a high. I had just solved my first mystery in weeks," Sherlock snapped, "Out! Everyone but John and Mary get out before your skulls join the one on the mantle!"

The flat was cleared in less than a minute. But just as Sherlock thought he would get some peace and quiet to think, one of the officers came back. He was a young one, probably no more than twenty-five years old and had good morals. He was going to propose to his girlfriend next week at some banquet party. But Sherlock wasn't in the mood to make a quip about it.

"Mr. Holmes. I noticed that the girl was looking cold out in the street so she turned around and walked into that thrift shop across the street. Perhaps she got caught up in there. If anything, it's worth a try to go and check it out," the man offered before turning around and scurrying off as quickly as he could.

John turned to Sherlock, "It's the only lead we've got. Let's see if she got caught up in there. She could be waiting for us right now," he said. Sherlock scowled and ran a hand through his curls, "How could she be so irresponsible? She should have known not to wander off. Especially with Moriarty after her."

Mary's eyes narrowed, "Sherlock. I know you're not to blame for Moriarty looking for her in any way. But sometimes I wonder whether or not you ever actually take the time to look at her," Sherlock made a gesture to answer while John looked like he wanted to intervene but Mary continued, "You wonderful idiot. Did you notice that she wasn't wearing a proper winter coat out in the bloody winter? Or how pale she had been lately? Lord knows that your fridge only has severed fingers and a sheep's brain. Have you noticed any of that?"

Sherlock stayed quiet so John interfered, "She's scared of you Sherlock and your surprisingly thick skull couldn't realize it in so long."

Sherlock didn't say a word as he took his Belstaff with a flourish and walked out with gaping steps. The couple sighed and followed him out. John looked horrible for scolding his best friend but Mary put a hand on his shoulder in comfort, "He needed to hear it eventually."

John could only nod in agreement as they had began their trek to the thrift store in silence. Upon arriving, they knew that something was off with the way the door was left wide open and the red rose resting at the foot of the threshold as though it was expected for them to come here.

Mary grabbed the rose and Sherlock walked inside. The silence among the three was broken when a muffled scream came from the register. The elderly lady was sitting there tied up to a chair looking close to tears. John immediately moved to untie her and once she settled down, Mary offered her some tea and she began to talk.

"Those awful brutes! I was sitting her sorting through some new donations when this young man walks in all charismatic and sorts. But then following him were these thugs who tied me up while he laughed like a maniac," she confessed frustratedly, "They seemed to have been waiting for someone and every time someone came in, they would be sent right back out until this little girl came in."

Sherlock, who was looking around the room turned her attention to the short, stout woman, "What did they do to her? Where is she?"

"I recognized the girl. Shee came in last week to buy a hat, some mitts and a scarf. Her lovely features were hard to forget and she was a sweetheart, that one. She looked an awful lot like you," she said as she pointed at Sherlock. Before Sherlock could snap at her for ignoring his question, Mary interrupted.

"That's because that little girl is his daughter. Now, Miss, Sherlock here is very anxious because those bad men may be harming her this very moment. We need anything you can tell us."

The lady looked at Sherlock sadly, "I-I yelled at her to run as best as I could and she turned around to do so but it was too late. One of the thugs hit her in the back of the head with a bat and she fell unconscious. They handed me this note on the way out and said that they knew you would find me eventually. Then they popped off."

She held up the note to Sherlock and he took it from her hands. He merely glanced at it when he walked out with a flourish. With a hasty thank you, the married couple followed.

"Sherlock, slow down!" Mary called, "We cannot find her if you don't confide in us. We're your friends and-"

"Are you looking for a little girl with black hair? I saw her being carried out of that store by some blokes," a voice called.

The trio turned to see a ragged young man with a giant backpack walking towards them. He was homeless for sure. He looked like he hadn't taken a bath in a while and was wearing no proper clothes for the weather besides a red scarf.

"That scarf is the same colour as Grace's hat. Do you know her?" Sherlock demanded. The man nodded.

"Darwin's the name. You must be the father. The girl gave me this scarf right after I saw her buying it in that store. She said that I should keep warm 'cause her father needed me," he said with a smile, "Anyways, I saw her go into the store a couple hours ago but then she never came out. But I did see a couple of guys coming out of that store and one of then seemed to be carrying her unconscious! I was just about to head to Scotland Yard to report it."

"Did you catch a license number or anything that could help us find them?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry. I didn't notice the number. But I did catch one of them saying something about Blane being too bloody obvious. I assumed they were talking about Blane street on the edge of town."

"Thank you, Darwin. Take care of yourself," Sherlock said as he pulled a wad of cash out of his wallet and gave it to the man. He stared at the money and then back at the trio.

"Thank you so much. Happy Christmas!" He turned around a ventured down the street once again. Sherlock pulled out his cell and called Lestrade as John halted a taxi.

"Lestrade, are there any abandoned factories on Blane street?... Yes. Okay... Meet us there in twenty minutes and bring the whole team."

After hanging up, Sherlock took out the note and began to type in whatever it said on it. When he was done, Mary took it out of his hand. It simply said:

 _Call me ;)_

 _(0)02 7669 9379_

 _You can't track it._

"He's setting this up. There's a trick. It's too easy," he said as he pressed the call button. Mary put up the partition screen as the phone rang. Sherlock put it on speaker and waited.

 _"Hello Sherlock,"_ the voice said carelessly as though greeting an old friend, " _Don't bother tracking the call. It's a private line."_

"Where is she? Is she hurt?" Mary demanded.

 _"Ah Ah Ah! I want a private conversation, please, between the king and the queen,"_ Moriarty said cheekily. Sherlock gripped the phone tensely, turned off the speaker and put it up to his ear.

 _"Hm. That's better. Anyways, to answer her question our princess is fine. I haven't hurt her but she doesn't seem all that well. Say hello to daddy, my angel,"_ he said. Sherlock heard the phone move before a new voice spoke up.

 _"D-daddy?"_

"Where are you?" Sherlock immediately asked.

 _"I-I don't know. It's so dark here and really cold. The men. They keep touching me and I just want to come back,"_ she sniffled silently. She sounded so sick and it killed Sherlock to not have noticed it before.

The phone was moved away from her but Sherlock wished she had the energy to call out.

 _"Don't mind the guys. They're just having a bit of fun is all."_

"Keep them away from her, Jim or I'll-"

 _"Oh, time to go. See you soon Sherlock. Solve the mystery quickly,"_ and the line went silent.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as they approached the old furniture factory on Blane Street. They had him. They had to have.

 **Comment and Vote Fellows!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I know I know. UPDATE. I'm sorry. but now I'm gonna be giving you three chapters! Enjoy!**

She's More Than That Pt. 4

It was all a setup. They knew as soon as they entered the old dusty building because not only was it void of Grace but there was a rose innocently mocking the trio and the officers that has arrived to back up the consulting detective. It was never the location and Moriarty knew it all along. Sherlock swept down and picked up the rose, none too surprised when he saw the note that went along with it.

 _You took a wrong turn :)_

 _I think you should take a look in her room again. May find something interesting if you look hard enough._

 _Love,_

 _M_

When they got back to the flat, it was dark outside but the first thing Sherlock did was go into his daughter's room in hopes of finding something, _anything_ that could lead him to Moriarty. John and Mary watched as he threw open drawers and ruffled through her closet to look for anything but at the same time he silently took note of what he needed to get her if- _when_ she came back.

"Sherlock. We have to get back to Adam. We'll be here right in the morning. We're going to find her, Sherlock," John said. Sherlock didn't say a word and the couple took it as their cue to exit. The army doctor ushered his tired wife towards the door.

Sherlock looked through faded jeans and well-worn clothes before realizing that there was barely anything to look through and that if one were to enter his flat, it would be as though Grace never existed and that was a surprisingly frustrating thought.

Less than five minutes later, Sherlock got down on his knees and noticed the one thing that seemed out of ordinary in her room. There was a large Nike shoe box laying under her bed that definitely wasn't from any pair of shoes that she owned. His mind vaguely went back to when John had bought a pair of Nike shoes a couple months back that came in that box.

He pulled the box out and opened it. He wasn't exactly sure what he was to make out of the contents however, until he actually began to read the notes. There were awards and teacher's notes and field trip forms and other important things that any parent would be required to look at.

There was another blasted note attached on the inside on perfectly prim card stock like every other note he has written up to this point.

 _You found it! She's quite good at hiding things don't you think? Clearly she is making good use of being invisible._

 _M_

Sherlock angrily tore the note apart and reached into the box looking at the notes.

 _This award is presented to_ _Grace Everest Holmes_ _for receiving a perfect grade average for three consecutive school terms._

 _Oct 28_

 _Dear Mr._ _Holmes_

 _We are quite worried about Grace's lack of communication in the classroom as well as her lack of required supplies. She needs a proper winter coat and new school supplies soon. She is an excellent student but we hope to have her join us on field trips and such. If there is a financial issue we ask that you bring it to the office so that we can arrange for her accordingly..._

 _Dec 16_

 _Dear_ _Mr. Holmes_ _,_

 _I am concerned and surprised to see that_ _Grace Everest Holmes_ _has not recovered at all from the cold that she had last week. If anything, we believe that it is getting worse. We advise you take her to the doctor because this seems to be worsening by the day._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Ms. Blembly_

 _School Nurse_

Sherlock rapidly pulled out every single piece of paper and read all the concerns that he hadn't been aware of over the past two years.

... _she hurt herself during recess today..._

 _...there are some girls picking on her for not having properly fitted clothes..._

 _...she struggles to talk to people..._

 _...she is winning another award today. We invite you to come to the school to see her receive it..._

 _...we require for you to attend the parent-teacher meeting..._

 _...she has been very sick lately..._

 _...we could not reach your home phone..._

 _...Grace had not been attending field trips..._

 _...she never brings a lunch to school and often goes the whole day without any nourishment..._

 _...she is a very gifted child but she always seems alone..._

When he was done reading the notes, Sherlock stared at the notes for a good half hour before standing up and flying out the door. The slips of paper left in her cold room.

...

It was two in the morning when John heard an urgent knock on the door. John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and moved out of bed while trying not to interrupt his sleeping wife. The urgent knocking did not seize until John opened the door and came face to face with a disheveled consulting detective holding a crumpled piece of paper in his left hand.

"John. We have to find her now. She's been sick. And according to these notes it's more than a cold," the disassembled man claimed as he ran a hand through his snow mounted hair, "She's not safe, John. Moriarty is going to hurt her and we need to find her-"

"Sherlock. For goodness sake calm down. We will find her," the commotion of the two men woke up Mary who got there in time to hear Sherlock sounding the most distraught he has ever been. She pulled him inside and sat him down on the couch.

"How are we going to find her Sherlock? We have no clues."

"Mary, the notes and the roses. I need them."

Mary scurried to the master room and came back with the only clues that they had up to this point. They then packed up Adam and all headed down to 221B Baker Street so that they could look over what they had.

Mary had whisked Adam off to Sherlock's room to put him to rest while both men got to work. Sherlock was focused greatly on finding anything under the microscope that could help him find his missing daughter when John spoke up.

"What were those pink notes you were holding, Sherlock?" Sherlock gripped the microscope harder as he explained the latest of Moriarty's scheme.

"The box was full of notes. She had been hiding them for over a year. She's known that she was sick for a while, kids are bullying her, her teachers even think that she's living in poverty. She hid it all."

"Sherlock. She buys her own food and clothes. When was the last time you bought her anything?"

He didn't understand the relevance of the question but thought back to it. Sherlock thought back and to his realization, he couldn't think of one time that he picked something up in a store thinking that it would come of use to Grace. Even her clothes were brought by Mycroft when she first moved in. But no new article of clothing had been added to that list since then.

"I-I give her money-"

"No child should have to live off of $20 every month. She barely got by on food. She walked around London- alone mind you- without a hat or scarf, while having to budget her needs and making sacrifices. She has no toys and her clothes are all two sizes too small. No wonder her teachers worry," he exclaimed, "Honestly, she was just as neglected with her mother. Only, she can't help but look up to you, despite it all. She hides it because she believes you never care. "

Sherlock thought back to all the times she tried to reach out to him and all the times he brushed past her as though she was nothing but a pest. How she always shivered indoors and outdoors because she couldn't keep warm, how he noticed the fading of her clothes but never did anything about it and how he always seemed so cruel to her during his deductions, saying things that were demeaning and condescending when she did nothing to deserve those words.

"I noticed it all but I always pushed it to the back of my mind. I believed that she was an inconvenience but she isn't," he was silent for several minutes before speaking again, his eyes never leaving the microscope, "When she is safe again, I will do everything to make her happy. It's the least I can do."

...

It wasn't until two nights of all lounging at the flat that Sherlock realized something. He looked under the microscope much closely before he made his way down to Barts.

Upon insistence from Mary, John stayed behind to look after their son while the matriarch went along with Sherlock before he could knock someone over while he strode in. He had just made it to the morgue when he caught sight of Molly's substitute scientist. He was a middle aged man that had multiple partners and got through university on his ex-wife's settlement funds. He was extremely pompous and spent thousands of dollars annually for face lefts and Botox.

He was buff but one mean glare from Sherlock left him cowering at his commend.

"I need you to search up 'Blane' in your files. He must be someone of status. Enough of one to receive a memorial building in the cemetery," he commanded. While the scientist streaked through the files, Mary finally asked what he had figured out.

"When Grace's room was attacked, the rose that was left behind had a faint ash scent so I naturally assumed that it was from a wood industry plant. But no. Absolutely no. It was wood burned ash, it was cremated ash, the kind that gives off a smell akin to that found in a cemetery. And the notes. At first I thought they were just taunts and sick jokes. Until I realized the paper. It's the same paper that Molly used on the death tags on a person's corpse after they are dead. Then there was Blane. He specifically picked that name. He knew that I would first assume if was a factory but that's too cliche. The final clue was the substance found on the card paper. There was a grass stain on one of them. Small and unnoticeable but of course, not to me. It was a very specific type of grass that can help absorb bad smells, like that of a corpse."

"So what you're saying is..." Mary asked slowly.

"She's at the cemetery. Probably in a memorial building because people are banned from entering those. Easy to hide away in. Grace said it was dark and cold so-"

"I-I found it. Alan Blane. He was the head of security at the castle. They set up a memorial for him at the cemetery down by Hampton Boulevard and-"

"You're done. Get out. Mary get Lestrade down there as soon as possible."

"Sherlock you can't go alone. What if-"

"Every moment wasted is another moment she is suffering."

That was his only explanation before he left her standing there.

 **Comment and Vote!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's an extra-long chapter for you wait**

 **She's More Than That Pt. 5**

She needed to breathe but the task was proving to be harder than expected. Moriarty and his men hadn't come back in hours. At this point, she doubted that they would. They had left her here to die. She shivered as she fruitlessly tugged at the rope that tied up her arms and legs.

She wished she could sleep but she had spent so much time sleeping that it was impossible. When she wasn't asleep, she fought off the men that tried to touch her or she ate the little food that they provided her with. They didn't offer her a blanket or even a chair. Her coat offered little protection against the cold. She was on the cold floor of some dark room where she could hear the cold winds rushing outside.

She didn't know if it was day or night. She didn't even know if her birthday and Christmas had passed. She wondered if anyone was looking for her. The invisible girl that even her father didn't acknowledge. Moriarty made her doubt it.

He never hit her but his words harmed her over and over. She heard them in her mind even when she slept and there was no way to stop them.

She heard the door open again and assumed that they had come back to taunt her some more.

"Grace," she knew that voice. Her head lolled to the side lethargically and she remembered who she was hearing. It was a good voice. It was the voice she heard on the phone that one time but it was here.

"Grace," it called again. This time, Grace let out a small whimper to let the owner of the voice know she was here. It was help. It had to be. She heard steps coming towards her and they stopped when he was right in front of her. She shivered as she tried to look up but had absolutely no energy to do it.

She instead let out a weak cough and waited for whatever was coming to happen. She didn't know anymore.

...

He found the memorial. There was nobody in the building and they didn't seem to have been for the last few hours. He picked the lock on the front and entered slowly.

It was upon his second call for her that he heard a response.

A horrifically weak one. He took a couple giant steps in its direction and to his relief he found a small figure sitting on the ground. Sherlock didn't realize just how horrible she was until he knelt down in front of her. To his absolute fury, he was met with blue lips and a shivering body that barely kept itself upright. She head was lolling from side to side and she actually had ice forming in her hair. She looked malnourished and had he been even a day late...

She would have been dead.

Sherlock quickly untied the rope and slipped off his Belstaff and wrapped it around the trembling body multiple times, not even caring that his precious coat would get wrinkled. She let out a small whimper as he picked her up most likely due to the moving of the muscles after so long. She struggled against him for a moment before giving in and laying her head against his shoulder in defeat while he felt the abnormal heat radiating off of her.

 _PTSD._

 _Influenza._

The words came like a curse in his mind as he left the memorial building holding the small bundle against him whilst ignoring the cold biting through his dress shirt. Grace let out a cough and buried her head closer into his shoulder.

The police and ambulance had arrived by the time they exited the cemetery. Lestrade approached Sherlock but he wasn't able to get a word in edgewise because the consulting detective detoured straight for the ambulance.

"Influenza. PTSD. Get her to the hospital as soon as you can," he demanded and the paramedics scrambled to prepare to take the girl into the facilities. He then turned to the detective inspector.

"They're all gone. But check the surveillance for the tube. If they want to escape inconspicuously then they wouldn't take their shiny black cars. They're going to head down there. I'm going to go get John and-"

"Already called him. I suggest you get that you stay with Grace. If you diagnose PTSD, she won't do too kindly to wake up next to strangers," Lestrade suggested. Sherlock turned to the ambulance, where Grace was already settled and breathing in a steady stream of oxygen provided by the gas mask.

He hopped in and sat down on one side of the gurney. It was silent throughout the ride. She was awake but her eyes never met his, instead, they rolled into the back of their head and her pupils expanded and dilated. Sherlock could only stare, she was completely lost, it seemed like forever, even though it couldn't have been.

...

Sherlock, Mary, John and even Lestrade waited in the waiting room for almost 9 hours. They barely left the room except when they had to go to the cafeteria to eat. But Sherlock never left. Nor did he eat. It was nightfall by the time the doctor had come in and he looked relieved but worried.

"She's has a fairly severe case of influenza. I don't think I have ever seen it get so bad, especially in a child, but it isn't fatal anymore, just extremely raw. She has no superficial injuries, but she is suffering from acute dehydration and undernourishment. But that isn't my main concern. We gave her some relaxants because she refused to let any of the doctors get within touching distance of her. Your analysis was right, Mr. Holmes. Her PTSD is definitely there, but...-"

"But what?" Mary persisted. She rocked Adam back and forth but he was getting fussy, they would have to leave soon.

"We tried to get the pediatrician talk to her but she refuses to admit that she is scared or feeling unsafe. She isn't saying much of anything, really. We can't help her if she won't admit to it first," he then specifically turned to Sherlock, "Which is why I ask you to go in and try to talk to her Mr. Holmes. I can only allow immediate family to visit at this time and you may be the only one who can get her to open up."

"I doubt that," he muttered.

"Sorry. What was that?"

"I said, I'll try my best. Thank you doctor. John, Mary. Get Adam home. You can come back in the morning. Lestrade, see if you can get any leads. I'll... be in there."

John put a hand on his best friend's shoulder, "Be nice Sherlock."

"Am I not always?" He quipped. With everyone gone, he entered the room.

She was there, of course, with nearly 4 blankets piled on top of her small body, covering her in a way that seemed that it was a warmth that would get taken from her. The pediatrician sat in the corner of the room and she tiredly looked up as the tall man entered, "I hope you can get through to her. She won't let me touch her."

"I need to be in here alone," Sherlock demanded. The pediatrician sighed and led herself out of the room.

...

Grace laid under the blankets, trying to warm up her cold body. No matter how many blankets were piled on her, she was shivering and hoping that it would somehow, magically be warmer. Her throat hurt and her lungs burned in the worst way possible. She couldn't even get her hands to stop trembling. But her biggest concern was the doctors. They were all trying to touch her. They wanted to hurt her and she knew it.

They said that she had to talk to them. She had to admit that she was afraid and only then could they help her. But she couldn't. Her father once told her that she shouldn't reveal weakness to anybody, only cowards did that and no one he knew was a coward.

He didn't get scared and she was expected to do the same. She had go live up to those expectations and she would do just that.

If she remembered correctly, that was the first thing he ever told her.

 _Flashback_

 _She sat down in the middle of the room, her clothes damp from the rain outside while the two men looked her strangely. She noticed the skull on the mantle and the various colourful jars lined up on the counter but her real attention was caught by the tall man with dark curls so similar to hers._

 _He stared at her as though she was an unknown specimen while his friend just stared with awe._

 _"So when we met five years ago, you couldn't be bothered to tell me that you had impregnated and abandoned a women the year before," the short one asked sarcastically._

 _"What she and I had was a fling caused by drugs and lust. I wasn't aware that I had... been unsafe," he replied, his eyes never leaving their blue-green hues of the girl across from him._

 _"What's you name again, Sweetie? And how did you get here? Oh God! You're soaking wet. Mrs. Hudson, could you perhaps see if she has anything she could wear in that bag?"_

 _"Grace Everest Holmes, Mister. And my mum said that she couldn't take care of me with all the drugs lying around. She woulda-"_

 _"Would have. Use your words, please," her dad requested stoically._

 _"Sorry. She would have left me with the orphan people but she didn't wann- want to get arrested so she left me here. I was really scared but-"_

 _"Fear is pointless. Only for the weak. You should never reveal a weakness."_

 _"Sherlock! She's six years old!" Mrs. Hudson chided and she entered with a bundle of clothes, "Here you go dear. I didn't find much but this will be enough for now. Let's get you into a bath and some food in your stomach. You're filthy."_

 _She nodded and hopped off the chair while trying her best not to touch anything. She replayed those words her in her head._

 _That was the first thing he had ever said to her._

 _End of Flashback_

If not admitting to fear made me a Holmes then there was nobody in the world that could get her to admit anything.

"Fear is for the weak only if you aren't getting any benefit from admitting to it," a voice said. Grace nearly flew out of her bed with surprise to hear how close it was to her. She tried her best to slip to the other side of the bed but two large, warm hands kept her in place. Her heart was beating tersely as she felt two non-consented hands on her.

This was the first time that anyone had ever been so gentle to her, "Don't move. You're going to hurt yourself," she glanced up to see her father standing at the edge of the bed, while glancing at the two IV needles taped to her skin. With extreme difficulty, she forced her body to relax. He was her father. He wouldn't hurt her.

Physically, at least.

He stared at her for a few moments, taking in her hospital scrubs, trembling hands and sickly, pale skin before speaking up, "Are you hungry?"

Grace hesitantly shook her head no while secretly imagining those egg salad sandwiches that Mary had made in her hands right now. Sherlock smirked mirthlessly and pulled out his phone, "Mary will make some before coming over tomorrow."

Grace hated bothering Mary but she didn't speak. When he was done sending the text he looked back to her, "You have to talk to the pediatrician. You are clearly traumatized and she cannot cure you if you don't say anything."

To Sherlock's surprise, he was met with his daughter's eyes filling up with tears. She shook her head violently and took heavy breaths that instantly lead to severe coughing. Sherlock awkwardly patted her back as he waited for her to stop.

"Use your words, Grace," he commanded. It was another one of the first things he has said to her and she could only help but obey.

"I... I wasn't s-scared and I ought... I mean... I should... I-I could," she tried, but her voice was hoarse and she was confused and it hurt to talk. Besides she didn't know what to say, she never did when it was with Sherlock, who was most likely ignoring how difficult it was for her to talk.

"Did John tell you about when I pretended to commit suicide?" He waited for her affirmative nod, "Well, I never told this to anyone but I was scared afterwards. I had literally wiped myself off of the face of the Earth and I couldn't go anywhere without fearing that someone would find me. I was afraid and I regret never telling everyone. I should have. Then I could have maybe found solace. To this day, I still cannot relinquish that feeling. But if you talk now. You won't have to."

Grace didn't look up at him but he saw a tear escape her eye, which she immediately wiped away, "I didn't... know w-what to do. He said terrible things. H-He was mean and his men... I was so scared. I... thought that you wouldn't come. He told me you didn't care and I believed him," she whimpered. All the tears she kept in throughout the years fell down her face.

Exhausted, she fell back onto the bed and pulled up the blankets so that they would cover her tear-stained face. She never wanted him to see her like this, "Y-you got what y-you wanted to hear. Please go. Please," she croaked letting out tense coughs and shivering slightly.

Of course she knew he was here upon the doctor's request. She was young but she was a Holmes girl.

And had it been a few weeks ago, had he never seen that box and had he never seen how miserable she saw, he would have turned around and left, he would have called the pediatrician and left her to deal with the rest. But that wasn't the case.

Instead he sat down at the edge of the bed and pulled the cover down from her head to see that the crying hadn't tamed itself in the least and that the coughing hadn't settled at all. She tensely waited for him to comment on her overreacting or for him to demand that she behave like an adult but that wasn't exactly what occurred.

"You haven't told me. Your birthday is two days from now and I believe that Christmas is as well. Therefore, I need a list of your requirements and desirables," he stated casually, running his fingers through her soft hair in mock obliviousness. He suppressed a smile as he noticed her eyes widen at the simple gesture that brought coolness to her heated head.

But his felt the pit in his stomach widen as he realized that it was the first time he had ever even expressed something so remotely fatherly towards her.

"Y-You never celebrated my birthday last year. Waste of time," she whispered, through the tears. She was too tired to cry but too afraid to go to sleep.

Sherlock disdainfully remembered stating that so brusquely before throwing a surprise party for John's birthday only 4 months later. He remembered the look of hurt on her face but chose to ignore it while he everyone gathered around the man of the hour.

She never mentioned that to John because she, of course, didn't want to hurt his feelings but Sherlock knew she would never admit to sadness. If she had, she would never have been here in the hospital in the first place.

Another Holmes' genetic corruption.

"Well, eight was my unlucky number. Now nine years old! That is a special age and we simply must celebrate it," he said. Grace didn't say a word but Sherlock patiently waited while planning out everything he needed to prepare for when she is released from the hospital.

"I-I don't know..." she began before something sparked in her mind. She tentatively looked at the older man before offering her request, "C-Can I have a teddy bear? Like the one you b-brought for the duchess' daughter when she c-came to stay with us," she asked tensely, as though waiting for his scoff. She wiped away the last of her tears but he knew it wasn't the end of them. It would be a long time before her happiness was a permanent thing.

Again, that incident not another one of his finer moments. When Mycroft had him babysitting the snot-nosed daughter of a "very important, confidential person" (a.k.a. The snot-nosed duchess'), Sherlock had not only had Grace sleeping on the couch but Mycroft insisted on treating the young heir with the upmost respect. He went out and bought her some toys including that blasted bear.

When he got back home, Grace genuinely thought that the large bag of toys was for her but he didn't even glance in her direction as he took the bag full of goods to the toddler who didn't even say a simple thank you. Grace didn't say a word about it to anyone.

"Yes. Anything else?" He asked. It was like a slap on her face when he presented the little brat with the toys, knowing full and well that Grace was a child that never had that luxury and was basically being told that she never would.

"A-and those chocolates from the little shop d-downtown that John once took me to. I really liked those," she requested albeit still hesitantly. She was opening up and that was all that mattered. Sherlock once again nodded in affirmation. He realized that it may have been a while since she had any sweets and added some other treats to that request.

"Anything more?" She slowly shook her head. He knew she thought that she was already asking for more than she deemed deserving but he thought that he would have liked for her to continue, to perhaps have that childlike thought process that she had never experienced.

 _I would get you a million new things if you asked._

Of course, he didn't say it aloud, it was too sentimental.

"We can continue to discuss this matter later on. I need to get the pediatrician back but I'll be around if you need me. Talk to her," she didn't nod but he knew that she would.

He turned away and walked to the door. He was just stepping out when he glanced back at the small trembling girl, "For the record, Grace. There was a time when I forgot about you, left you with that woman and I couldn't be sorrier about it. But you are here and you are my daughter. If you ever went missing again, I would have never stopped looking."

Before she could respond, he had closed the door and left. He had so much to do.

 **Comment and Vote!**


	6. Chapter Almost 6

**So it's on the shorter side but I'm pretty proud of it if I do say so myself.**

She's More Than That Pt. 5.5

 _1 Day Later_

 _Christmas Eve_

 _One day before Grace's Birthday_

Sherlock sat on the couch across from the pediatrician while Grace sat on the opposite end of the same couch, scarfing down one of many egg salad sandwiches, wearing her hospital scrubs while covered in several blankets.

Even with the brand new sweater that Mary had brought for her and the fuzzy socks that Mrs. Hudson had sent, she was adamant on layering herself.

Dr. Margo Gillian ran a hand through her hair before beginning today's session.

Several sessions with the girl hadn't exactly brought expected results but she could narrow down her many problems on one single source.

Her father.

"Where do I even start?" She turned to Grace first who was still eating borderline savagely. She had been eating like that for the past two days. She may not have been the famous Sherlock Holmes, _deductioner_ extraordinaire, but she had spent enough time in her field to know that the action was a sign that the child was often neglected food in the past.

 _Phase one commence._ She thought dryly.

"Let's start with you, Mr. Holmes. When did you first meet Grace?"

Sherlock sighed and didn't see the point in this. Grace was eight years old. Tell her that the world was a good place and maybe take her to an amusement park a couple times and she would be happy. But he complied nonetheless.

"When her mother left her outside of my building two years ago-"

"I meant the very first time. Perhaps when she was born?"

"I never met her when she was born. I wasn't there when her mother went into labour and..." he glanced at the quiet child who was listening intently to his every word, "I refused to see her. My brother, Mycroft, sent her mother a cheque every month up to keep her from filing a lawsuit, until Grace came to live with me."

"Alright continue from where you met her first," Sherlock couldn't detect a hint on disappointment or disdain in her voice, but she scribbled some notes.

"She didn't have much when she arrived. Mycroft supplied her with clothes and enrolled her into school here. She had never gone to school before that. She spent a lot of time with my friend; John, and his wife; Mary, because I was out solving cases and recovering from my death. Which was-"

"I read Mr. Watson's blogs. I know all about it," the doctor smirked, "Let's have Grace pick up now. I'm going to ask you questions, I want you to give me yes or no answers."

Grace silently nodded as she finished the last of her sandwiches, aware that Sherlock was preparing to deduce her while she was interrogated.

"Grace, did your mother ever neglect to feed you, take you to school or clothe you?"

Her answer was met with an uncomfortable nod.

"Did she ever say she loved you?"

This time it was a shake of her head.

"Did she hit you?"

She shook no. That was a good thing. Physical abuse held its own set of problems.

"Say bad things to you?"

Another uncomfortable yes.

"Was she a drug abuser?"

She nodded again and her eyes watered slightly.

"Did you ever feel like you were important when living with her?"

This was met with a small, embarrassed no.

"What is the point of these questions? They aren't helping-" Sherlock protested but was cut off.

"Please Mr. Holmes," she turned back to Grace, "One final question. Did any of these things change when you came to your father?" She carefully asked.

Grace didn't respond, but Margo knew that she had hit home run. Sherlock looked equally shaken at the realization.

"I need a response. Did any of these things change when you came to live with your father?" She asked again.

"No," she sobbed out, "No they didn't."

She broke out into tears, the very first time in front of the pediatrician. She knew that the child cried but she never once did it when she could be seen by others. As though it was shameful to cry.

She silently turned back to Mr. Holmes, who couldn't stop staring at his daughter in shock of her confession, "Mr. Holmes now it's you turn to answer some questions."

"What was your reaction to seeing your daughter on the front steps of your home two years ago? You knew who she was from the beginning but how did you feel about her being here?"

"I didn't even say anything to her. She came right before I was about to go out on a case, so I left her with Mrs. Hudson and went. I didn't feel one way or another," he responded in a robotic way.

"What was the best thing you have ever done for her?"

"Nothing. I don't think that I've done anything that could fall under the positive category."

"Alright, what was the worst?"

"Let Moriarty take her."

"Aha! But that's where you're wrong. It was a horrible thing but it wasn't the worst and it wasn't just your fault. He had been after her for a while and was adamant on having her one way or another."

Sherlock didn't turn away from Grace.

"The worst thing you did was never let her feel loved," as Margo suspected, the detective tensed, "that was what made her never come to you when she needed something or why she never shared anything with you. From what I gathered you had the tendency to criticize her for everything and she couldn't bare disappointing her only family so she decided the best thing she could do was be as low maintenance as she could."

"Am I correct, Grace?"

"I th-thought it would make him love me more," she cried, trying her best not to cry but it wouldn't stop.

Sherlock's mind palace was faltering, he didn't know what to do with this information. Margo decided it was time for phase two.

"I am going to step out for a moment. I want you to talk and Mr. Holmes, I expect you to make her stop crying by the time I get back. Hold her," she said. The doctor had never left a crying child but she knew she needed to for the sake of progress. This was no ordinary problem.

...

Sherlock snapped out of his breakdown demeanour long enough to pull Grace closer to him who weakly struggled to be released. She felt his hand wipe away her tears for the first time but she felt too humiliated to relish the moment. She never wanted to admit that she was trying so hard to get his love and she was reminded once again that no matter what she did, she would never be enough for Sherlock or for anyone.

She whispered 'I'm sorry' almost like a chant.

"Grace. Stop it. I need you to stop," he demanded with absolutely no strength to his voice.

"I can't. I'm sorry but I can't stop crying."

"Not that," he scowled pulling his broken down daughter closer into his side, "Stop apologizing for something that you didn't do. Nothing that has ever happened to you was your fault, nor did you deserve it"

"Then why did you hate me?"

Sherlock began firmly, "I never hated you in _any_ definition of the word. But, at the same time, that didn't mean that I made you feel like you were accepted by me, so if anything l... I should be apologizing. But no matter what I say, I will never be able to give back those 8 years of yours that I completely ruined and I am so, _so_ sorry."

"I left you with that woman, who was angry that I left and she took it out on you. I failed to care for you and I made you feel as though you had to live up to a certain standard to be accepted by me," he absent-mindedly stated as his brain went through every single moment he had let her down, "At this point, I should be trying to get you to accept me."

"You don't have to. I accept you, daddy," she insisted and Sherlock never felt worse. Even after everything, she was going to forgive him and allow him access to her life even when he had done nothing to deserve it.

Sherlock just shook his head but gave her a small, _almost_ sad smile, "Well then I will do everything to be worthy of it."

Grace lightly placed her hand over his and he turned it to grasp hers gently.

 _Hold her._

She wiped away the last of her tears with her free hand and tentatively laid her head on his shoulder.

He didn't even flinch as she closed her eyes and let her breathing even out ten minutes later. It was the first time she had slept properly since her stay at the hospital and he didn't dare interrupt it.

Almost five minutes later, Margo was peeked back into the room and smiled at the man.

"I take it you have come to terms?" Sherlock nodded.

She silently closed the door and left with a smile on her face.

Phase two complete.

She pulled out her phone and texted a ciphered number to somewhere in Zimbabwe.

 _Guess what I just did, sis?_

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Adler," she said to herself with a smirk. Of course, to the rest of the world she just simple Dr. Margo Gillian but what was a lady without her secrets, right?

 **Comment, Vote and all that good stuff 3**


	7. Chapter 6

No one was surprised more than John when Sherlock walked into the hospital on Christmas morning with a mountain of balloons in one hand and various gift bags in the other, with a cake box balanced on his right arm while a huge brown teddy bear was tucked under the other. It was probably larger than Grace herself.

While her husband gawked at the man, Mary was the opposite, she just looked pleased and all-knowing. She rocked baby Adam back and forth as the man approached the couple.

"John. Mary. Merry Christmas," he greeted, "John close your mouth. I trust you know where Grace is?"

Seeing as her beloved was too surprised for words, Mary took it upon herself to answer, "In her room. We got her some new books that she already began to ready. She'll be glad to see you."

"John, grab the cake. Careful, I don't want it ruined," Sherlock instructed. John snapped out of his idiocy and followed his friend to his daughter's room with the cake box in hand.

"When did you get all of this?"

"I've been collecting presents all day yesterday. Last night I got the cake after Grace had gone to sleep. I picked up the balloons this morning. Difficult to fit into a cab but I managed," he answered lamely.

"Who made you a cake and blew up balloons for you on Christmas?" That was when he and Mary had left and he didn't look ready to leave then.

"Cashed in some favours," he said again, "Now shut up. I need the best way of executing this."

"It's a little girl's birthday party, Sherlock. Just walk in and surprise her," Mary said as they briskly walked to Grace's room.

"Hold on, little brother," A voice behind them called. Of course, Mycroft had appeared out of nowhere, carrying his umbrella and looking smug. Sherlock just rolled his eyes but waited to hear what he had to say.

"Take everything to the waiting room. I had Anthea decorate it some time ago and I believe that it is adequate for a party," Mycroft smiled before turning around.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mary demanded. Mycroft turned in surprise while Sherlock looked like he was going to protest, "You need to be there! You're her uncle and it would mean a lot if her whole family was there."

Mycroft frowned but followed the trio nonetheless without argument. They arrived in a colourful room filled with brightly coloured streamers and decorations everywhere. There were snacks laid out on the table and some pop music playing in the background. But the best part was that everyone was there.

Grace's grandparents, Mrs. Hudson, Anthea, Lestrade, Molly, Sally and even Anderson who was sure to get booted out by Sherlock at any moment. There were more gifts piled in the corner of the room.

Sherlock arranged the cake, gifts in the room, allowing Lestrade to light the candles and begrudgingly not kicking Anderson out while he went on search for his daughter, balloons following.

He encountered her just as Mary said, in her room reading a book about some mythical creatures from a huge pile of books. When he entered, Grace's eyes landed directly on the gigantic cluster of balloons before finding their way to his gaze.

"What's all this for?" she asked in awe, her voice still cracking from the recovering flu.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, "For Anderson. Because he's my best friend and I love him," he waited to see a smile sneak onto her face before continuing, "they're for you. Happy Birthday."

She hopped out of bed to accept the balloons with radiance and a shy thank you.

"Come on. My brother also came, believe it or not, to wish you so let's go," and with that, he turned to lead her to the surprise while assuring that she was following.

And she was. With a huge smile on her face with the simple gesture and someone wishing her a happy birthday.

They had only just entered the room when they all erupted in a huge surprise. Grace's eyes widened in shock as they skimmed over the room and saw the most wonderful party she had ever seen.

"Happy Birthday Sweetheart!" Molly cried as she bent to hug the girl cautiously. But there was only a brief hesitation before she hugged back. Next, her grandparents and Mrs. Hudson scooped her up and coddled her with kisses and words of endearment. Anderson grumbled a happy birthday and Sally patted her head and replied also.

"Well, let's let the birthday girl cut her cake before we continue," Lestrade announced as he presented the huge cake covered in light blue frosting and silver snowflakes. The centre had Happy Birthday Grace Everest Holmes written in a swirly font. Nine candles neatly lined up the rim of the cake and Sherlock guided her to it when he realised she was too awed to even move.

After a brief, off tune reciting of "Happy Birthday", she blew out her candles. The whole room cheered but no one looked happier than Grace.

"Who set all of this up?" She asked euphorically.

"Well all those gifts came from us but the majority were all your father's. And Mycroft has had us decorating the room for the past hour," Anthea stated as she took the balloons from Grace to tie to a nearby chair. Grace stood and leapt onto her uncle, who awkwardly lifted her into his arms and patted her unfamiliarly on the head.

"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft," she murmured happily into his neck. The man in question was turning red like a tomato ad he tried to keep a level of professionalism while in the awkward (only to him, really) hold.

"Um yes. You're welcome. Today was a day off and I decided to make good use of it-"

"I thought the British government didn't get any days off?" She inquired innocently and it brought a smirk to every person's face.

While Mycroft attempted to formulate a response, she then reached her arms out to Sherlock who also accepted her awkwardly into his arms. He allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck is an almost chokehold as he himself tightened his arms around her.

This was the first time he had ever hugged her. Or even let her get so close.

"Thanks, daddy," she mumbled again. Sherlock didn't say anything but his actions practically screamed his answer for him. He would never let her feel like she was missing something ever again. He placed her down and she proceeded to hug everyone in the room, even Anderson who only patted her on the head while turning a light pink.

But Sherlock didn't comment on it. He simply tucked it away into his mind palace for when he needed to use it against him.

Three hours later, a majority had left, leaving just Sherlock, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, John and Mary while Grace sat in John's embrace and Adam played with her hair from his mother's lap.

"Well, Sherlock I think that I'm going to get back to the flat. I could take the presents and things if you'd like," she offered. But Grace shook her head as she went for another slice of cake. Her fourth slice to be exact but Sherlock didn't stop her, she probably hadn't had cake in months.

She turned to Sherlock, "Can I open them?" To which he affirmed. Mrs. Hudson gave Grace one last kiss before heading out.

She leapt up from John's lap and bounded towards the presents piled in the corner of the room while exclaiming something about how she had never seen such a big pile of presents, even in pictures.

After an hour of rifling through books, clothes, jewelry, money, a deerstalker cap (definitely Sally, he'll burn it when he gets back to the flat) and stuffed animals, most of which was bought by the consulting detective, she reached the final gift in the pile. It was a box covered in shiny, yellow wrapping paper, contrasting highly from the majority of the gifts.

"That's mine! I hope you like it!" Molly chimed as she moved closer to see her reaction. Grace slowly opened her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as inside laid a professional, scientific microscope with slides and different lenses and everything. Almost exactly like the ones in the hospital laboratory or the one that her father had.

She gently pulled it out of the box and found her name on an inscription plate on the side of the wonderful contraption.

"Molly! This is amazing thank you so much. Maybe now dad and I could do experiments together... that is if you want to daddy," in offered shyly as the whole room turned to look at the tall, insightful man.

He glanced in her general direction for a moment before he looked up straight ahead and they all assumed that he had drifted into his mind palace but Mycroft smirked as he saw him catch her eye only moments later.

With a straight face he stated, "I will need an assistant for my upcoming experiments and I do believe that you will be an excellent addition to my research," it was a very businesslike tone but they all knew that he meant it in an absolute way meaning that he had never even considered saying no in the first place.

Grace nodded and tried to keep a straight, professional face but she blushed happily as she tried to contain the happiness.

"Well, I believe that we should all get going," Mary exclaimed with a smile. It's almost time for Adam's nap. We'll be back in a couple of hours," and with that, she pulled John out of the room and headed out. Mycroft got a text from another VIP and slipped out a while later after giving Grace another hug as per her request and ensuring that someone would clean up later on and take the gifts home. Soon after Molly insisted that she get back to the morgue and that left two.

"Thank you for all of this. But I didn't need it all. I would have been happy-"

"You wouldn't have been as euphoric as you were now. It would just be satisfaction. Considering this was your first proper party, I wanted to make it the memorable."

Grace didn't argue and opted to just nod in agreement. Sherlock glanced at the clock before casually suggesting, "It's only the afternoon. You and I should go for lunch. They will discharge you for a couple of hours so long as I have you back before your next session."

Grace nodded enthusiastically leapt up from her chair to go change. She grabbed some of her new clothes and rushed to her room to change while Sherlock went to the front and signed her out while she rushed down ready to go.

She was wearing a brand new, navy knit turtleneck sweater and a pair of equally new light blue jeans. She also had on a brand new pair of waterproof, black boots and a wonderful winter coat that had no holes or tears. She was pulling on a hat over her curly hair and mittens over her tiny hands when she approached the man who was ensuring that she was properly covered for going outside.

He noticed one thing missing. He pulled off the midnight blue scarf around his own neck and wrapped it around his young daughter's neck several times. Her twinkling eyes met his and he couldn't help but feel pride as he looked at her.

He had made so many mistakes with her because he was a pompous arse but he practically sealed it to his mind palace. He would never do anything so horrible to her ever again. He would never again make her feel like she shouldn't be there with him because she deserved so much more and he would give her everything he could because she was more than a responsibility.

They both turned towards the door and headed out into London knowing that things were going to change for the both of them and it was going to be a good change.


	8. Almost the End

Sorry long wait. Here's part 2 of today's update. Last Chapter before epilogue! Enjoy!

She's More Than That Pt. 6.5

She was so glad that she was back that she didn't waste a second before she ran up the stairs and burst into flat 221B, leaving the rest to follow behind her. She looked around to notice just how messy it was and just how homely it felt compared to the hospital. She missed the strange smell of acids and old furniture and the large windows that allowed her to watch over London.

"Well, let's get some food into your stomach, Grace dear," Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she rushed to her flat to make the small girl a huge breakfast, no doubt. Sherlock swept into the flat and John followed with some of Grace's belongings.

"Grace, I suggest you take all these things to your room," he said with an excited glint in his eye. Grace gave John a strange look but took all her belongings from the two men and rushed to her room nonetheless.

It was a few seconds before they heard the thud of multiple items being dropped on the floor that they decided to go witness her reaction. They encountered Grace looking like she had just seen the elephant in her room for the second time, but this surprise was much more welcome.

The bedroom was revamped and absolutely brand new. The old loft bed was replaced with a full Queen-sized bed equipped with a new navy comforter and more pillows than she could ever need. Her stuffed animals were lined up on the headboard of the bed.

Her walls were painted a pleasant cream colour. She had a dresser equipped with the new hair accessories and jewelry that she had received for her birthday and there were plants in all corners of her room.

There was a window seat displayed in front of the fixed window that doubled as a large book shelf to hold all of her books.

The best part was the huge desk that rested on the other end of the room. It had tonnes of school supplies and knickknacks lying about. Her new microscope sat primly on one corner on it.

Overall, the room looked like everything she could ever want in her bedroom and everything she thought that she would never actually get.

She turned to look at her father, still speechless. He sheepishly stated, "I had a few more favours to cash in. I also discarded the box under your bed. You won't be needing it anymore," he said it so firmly that Grace didn't doubt that fact.

Grace swallowed thickly, unable to suppress her smile, "You could have saved the favours for something more important, you know."

"I can't think of anything that could be more important," he quietly remarked as he watched her rush to her closet to see it filled to the brim with more clothes that she could even remember receiving. Grace turned and gave him a smile that he couldn't help but return.

John watched the exchange in interest. He knew Sherlock had no favours to cash in, this was all his own work. He had watched him scramble to make her bedroom perfect while still visiting her in the hospital.

Sherlock seemed so humble and so contrasting to his regular self as he stood over her little form, guiding her through the basic steps of how to use a microscope. He gently guided her hands over the different parts and gave descriptions about how they worked and Grace listened intently.

John picked up the items that Grace had abandoned on the floor and put them away as the duo continued to discuss their future projects and such.

"Now, I will not accept anything less than professionalism when you and I conduct experiments. You must be prompt and prepared to tend to every task that I require of you. Will you be able to do that?" He demanded in his old tone.

Grace nodded hesitantly, wondering just how advanced she would have to be. She had never touched a microscope in her life, she didn't want to disappoint him.

"Good. I have your first task. I need you to be my test subject for this experiment. How much food will it take to fill your stomach and what kind of food will satisfy for brain longest?"

John laughed at his best friend's adorable way of asking his daughter what she wanted for dinner. He was glad that the oblivious man was trying to make an effort to take care of Grace in the most Sherlock way possible. He watched as they exchanged almost a full conversation with just their eyes.

"Indian it is. I'll be sure to order that butter chicken curry you enjoyed so much last week," he exclaimed suddenly after a full moment of silence, "John call the restaurant. Pick it up in 30 minutes and leave a tip, their son's going off to college soon."

Usually, John would scoff and tell him to get his own food but he didn't want to interrupt this moment between them. It seemed so much warmer in the flat with her smile and Sherlock not shooting the wall. They completed each other.

John got his coat and left the duo to themselves.

...

Grace sat in the living room, underneath a mountain of blankets, as she read another book quietly while her father played- sorry, worked- with his equipment.

"Grace, come here," he requested, not moving his eyes from whatever he was looking at under his precious microscope. Grace placed her book down and walked over to Sherlock who was sitting on a bar stool looking engrossed in whatever he was looking at. She thought he was going to get her to bring him something but gasped when he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her into his lap, directly in front of the machine.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "I read in a parenting book that kids enjoy it when their parents organize bonding activities and that it is best to engage in educational bonding efforts. I'd like to get your opinion on this skin sample. See if you could find anything."

Grace looked at him confused, "You don't need me to find clues, you always find what you're looking for."

"A second opinion is very valuable to me. Go ahead tell me whatever you see," he insisted, staring intently as the girl in his lap who reluctantly looked into the scope at the skin samples that he had presented to her. She didn't dare touch the actual microscope since she was never even allowed to go near it in the past, instead her hands were dangling on her sides, making it Sherlock's job to keep her from sliding off his lap by wrapping an arm around her middle. She didn't even realize as her face scrunched into confusion.

"This isn't..." she briefly paused to look up at him before speaking, "It isn't human skin. The tone could be correct but it's too smooth. Human skin cells are layered. Or at least... that's what my library book told me. Also, I think that this creature belongs to a scientist. There's some sort of chemical stuff layering it. Um... also I think that the creature is a small mammal. The cells are too fine to be on a large one. But I don't know about that because it should probably have some fur in there too. That's all I could get."

Sherlock stayed silent and processed her deductions before concluding, "Hm. Impressive. You are absolutely correct, by the way. All three deductions. It's the skin of a naked mole rat. Known to lack fur and have very fine skin. Do you want to try another slide."

He was delighted to see her nodding enthusiastically. And he switched the slides and allowed her to look through the lens again while tightening the arm around her torso that was keeping her from falling off the stool.

"Can I adjust the lens? It's blurry," she asked, as though worried that he would be upset with her if she touched his prize possession. Sherlock hoped he could change the hesitation soon.

"By all means."

He didn't think that he would enjoy this as much as he did, by the time John got back half an hour later, they had gone through deducing nine slides.

When they all sat at the dinner table- the table Sherlock had cleared away his experiments to ensure more eating space for Grace- Grace was absolutely glowing so John felt compelled to ask, "I take it that you two had fun while I was gone?" Grace nodded and went into a lengthy explanation on each of slides that she had deduced but neither of the men tried to stop her.

With dinner done, John headed back home while Sherlock cleared away the slides. He was just about to finish up when he felt a small tug on his dress shirt and he turned to meet the shy but, nonetheless, happy child.

"Thanks, daddy. That was a lot of fun. I hope I didn't waste too much-"

"Stop thinking that you are wasting my time or my effort, Grace," Sherlock insisted. Grace looked away. He wasn't angry and she knew that he only wanted to show her that he cared and valued her, make up for how he treated her before. But it was hard to believe that after so many years and she still needed convincing.

Sherlock knelt to her level like a man asking for forgiveness and took both her hands in both of his before speaking. It was so uncharacteristic that Grace couldn't help but stare, "You are important and you will never be a waste of my time. If you want someone to play with, I will always be ready to if you will have me. If you are sad then I will give you as many hugs as you want and if you ever need anything, I will do everything in my power to get it for you. So don't hesitate, you never need to worry about your old life again and-"

"Daddy?" Sherlock locked eyes with her watery ones as she released her hands from his and held them in front of her, "I-I need a hug."

So Sherlock didn't waste a second before obliging.

 **Alright so, of course, my deductions are crap but again, I'm not Sherlock. Hope you still enjoy. Follow and Favourite! 3**


	9. Actually the Beginning

_6 months later_

Sherlock entered the doors to the school, immediately letting his eyes wander across the different groups of people found in the environment. He completely avoided the "single gossiping mothers" clique that were still trying to get him to go on a date with one of them.

He'd rather sit through one of Mrs. Hudson's tea parties.

He made his way to the back of the field where he knew his daughter to be sitting, only this time, he was surprised to see another girl sitting with her. Grace often spent her days alone on the tables reading or doing homework. The bullying had stopped ever since they found out who her father was so she was able to spend more time outside rather than in the library.

The girl Grace was with had curly red hair and came from a down to earth family from her choice of dress. She seemed very talkative and the complete opposite of the Holmes girl. But she seemed nice enough to Sherlock.

"...and then Mr. Morgen had to spend the rest of the day covered in honey," the girl giggled. But she paused when she saw the man approach them and she let out an ear piercing squeal causing both Sherlock and Grace to flinch.

"You're SHERLOCK HOLMES! I am so honoured to meet you sir and I read your blog every day and I think that you are the coolest ever. Blimey, I think I'm going to be a detective like you when I grow up and my mums think you're so awesome. I'm Jenna, by the way," she rushed. Sherlock stared at her, at a loss for words for the first time.

"Ahem. Yes. Charmed," was all he said before he just turned to Grace, "No case today, so I decided to come pick you up. Mrs. Hudson is out with friends."

Grace nodded, shut her book and placed it in her new grey backpack. She said goodbye to Jenna before preparing to leave.

"Hey remember to ask your dad about this weekend. My mums and I baked some cakes. They were so happy that someone actually wanted to come over... that sounded sadder than it was. Just ask," Jenna called. Grace waved goodbye and called an "Okay."

Sherlock pulled out a bag of baby carrots from his pocket and handed it to his daughter who accepted them appreciatively.

It took some time to get used to but Sherlock had made it a regular habit to feed Grace at frequent intervals throughout the day, allowing her to gain a healthy amount of weight and become less lethargic.

"I take it she has invited you over for a playdate," Sherlock inquired.

Grace nodded sheepishly, "I told her that I would come. No one really talks to her because she has two mums but that's a dumb reason to dislike someone. She's actually really nice once you get past the loudness. Can I go?"

"Naturally. You've already said yes. It would be impolite to cancel now," he said. But he knew Grace was delighted to have made her first friend and he wasn't going to keep them from interacting.

A moment of silence passed through them and Grace glanced up to see his father looking like he wanted to ask her something, "What is it, daddy?"

"Well... You see. Your summer break is coming up soon and I read in a parenting book that-"

"Stop reading those! You fed me baby food for two days after you read that it was filled with vitamins that create a strong foundation for a child's diet," Grace giggled as she swallowed another carrot.

"That was one time. Anyways, It has come to my attention that you have probably never been outside of London. Am I correct?"

"Well, one time when mommy had a new boyfriend, we had moved to Bristol. But they broke up in 2 weeks and mommy brought us back. I wasn't allowed to leave the house there anyway," she stated. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, that didn't count. I have a... proposition," he began. Grace looked at him curiously. Sherlock's posture relaxed and his stiff posture softened as he caught eyes with his precious daughter.

It had taken so many bumps in the road but now, Sherlock realized that he probably couldn't ever live with this little human again. She had lived a rough life and it was all his fault from the start but it was slowly improving and he was hellbent of giving her a normal childhood experience that she had missed out on, all those years ago.

Grace smiled and urged him to continue, "I was wondering. Mycroft has a cottage down by La Seine in Paris. It's close to the Eiffel tower and I believe that there is a café close by as well. Would you... perhaps like to go there for a few weeks?"

Grace's eyes widened and Sherlock noticed that the had stopped walking leaving them in the middle of the sidewalk. Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I believe that it is important for a child to experience the world and have a global perspective. Mycroft also thinks it is a good idea for you to know a second language. If you would like to travel, that is."

"But what about your cases and John and New Scotland Yard?"

"Grace. If you want to go, I am pretty sure I can give up crime for two weeks. If anything, France isn't crime-free. John and Mary both agreed to come along with Adam. Well, actually, Molly was interested in the catacombs and I decided that I should probably give her a birthday gift this year, so she's coming too. I still need your answer."

"Yes. Of course," Grace cried, jumping up and down like a squirrel on drugs. She then went into a rapid description of everything they were going to do and everything she is going to bring with her and how Uncle Mycroft would probably come visit.

"I am so excited, daddy. Thank you so much," she finished. She bounced up the stairs to the flat and rushed to tell Mrs. Hudson the good news. Sherlock smirked when he heard her recall everything she had told him to Mrs. Hudson. It made him so happy when she was like this and he wanted her to feel this way for as long as he could do so.

Because she was so much more then what he thought and she deserved everything good in the world. He climbed up the stairs to listen to his daughter happily tell the landlady about her exciting summer.

He sat down in his chair and allowed her to climb up onto his lap without breaking the conversation. It was such an adorable sight that Sherlock couldn't help but squeeze his arms around her midsection, making her laugh before she blasted back into the conversation.

As he left a small peck on her cheek, he was reminded of what an ignorant idiot he was before. This little girl, _his daughter,_ didn't want anything grand or spectacular. She was just a child calling out for some attention from her father after being shunned by the rest of the world. She wanted to feel important and valuable and Sherlock would kill himself before allowing her to feel starved of that feeling for any longer.

She was so much and he would treat her like the gem she was from now on.

 **I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I took so long but I hope you will still read, rate and review. Always Loving you guys!**

 **Everythingisawesome001**


	10. Short 1: Music Box

**Hi! I was inspired and wrote this. Hope you enjoy it, but just so you know, it's like a sequel so I think you would want to read the story first. Let me know what you think!**

Mycroft Holmes didn't have friends, he didn't make frivolous connections, he didn't develop relationships. They were a waste of time, a violation of his cognitive space and such memories did little to help him progress in both his career and his own life. Back when he was in elementary school, he would solemn speak to one of the idiots that he was surrounded with; he was a _little_ pudgy so he wasn't an integral member on any sports team not was he extraverted enough to be invited to birthday parties or playdates. Of course, he less than cared about what those juveniles thought of him or if they wanted to be his friend, he was busy trying to make something of himself.

In college, he had slimmed up a little bit but still, that did nothing to make him interested in group activities or dates or anything of the sort. He finished his degree in 2 years, literally a third of the time it should have been and he chose to believe that it was due to his own mind palace being in a constant state of focus, unalarmed by the flippant occurrences around him.

His family was not about touchy-feely, well, naturally his father and mother did try to coddle them when they were young but they had grown to realize that their children were not normal children who needed constant encouragement in order to succeed. Sherlock was always off on his own conducting some grotesque experiments or trying to solve what the police could not and Mycroft was crunching numbers alone in his room, criticizing the news, becoming a master politician and lawmaker. Christmas Eve did not often ensue large family dinners unless guests were over and the Holmes had to put together some semblance of a normally functioning family. Mycroft had grimaced at the memory of going to church on Easter Monday where he spent most of the day rolling his eyes at the prayer and cringing at every kiss given to him by some old lady telling him that he had put on weight.

So, it was safe to say that he opposed developing any emotional connections at almost a spiritual level (as if he believed in such nonsense). There was no point to it and he seemed to have been making it just fine without them.

But then came Grace Everest Holmes; his long-lost niece, showing up at his brother's doorstep three years ago with a ratty bag and not a penny to her name.

Well, not long-lost _exactly,_ he had known of her existence and caught a brief glance of her when she was, perhaps, three days old and he had gone to discuss the terms of her living arrangements with Evie Davis, her mother. But he made no effort to get to get too close of a look because, while he had no sense of family, his sense of responsibility reigned supreme and he may have second-guessed himself about what he was about to do.

For as long as Grace stayed with her, she would be given 500 pounds per month to take care of her plus another 500 pounds to keep from making her pregnancy public. But he supposed that he was naïve to assume that the arrangement would have lasted long enough for Sherlock's accident to have been forgotten. She eventually came back, and upon understanding how terrible her life had been, for the first time in his life, he felt a small burst of guilt. But she seemed to joyous and intelligent and so _bright_ that it pretty much dissipated (or so he would tell himself).

 _"Uncle Mycroft? Dad said that I needed to come to see you," she said quietly, eyes downturned. She wore a shirt with some restaurant logo on the front and a pair of well-worn flowered shorts that were ill-fitting and inappropriate for the current London weather. Her hair was frizzy and she stood barefoot on the living room floor._

 _Mycroft physically flinched at "uncle" and "dad" and its now association to him and his little brother especially when he looked at the little wonder in front of him. With her black hair, blue eyes and protruding cheekbones, it wasn't a level eight mystery figuring out who she belonged to._

 _"Yes, Grace. I just wanted to let you know what our plan will be from here on out," he handed her a large binder, which she awkwardly took into her skinny arms, "You will begin school in September and my associate, Anthea, will get you some supplies and clothes. Please keep in mind that your father will be busy so I advise that you behave and focus on your studies. Should you need anything ask him but otherwise I trust that you can be independent. The adoption papers will be ready in a week's time and I have set up a doctor's appointment for you tomorrow. It's nothing more than a checkup to see whether we need to see to special accommodations"_

 _He said it so brusquely as if she were an employee or a client instead of his six-year-old niece but regardless she looked up. He cleared his throat and pulled out a small stuffed bunny rabbit from his coat pocket and held it out to her. It was a simple gesture really, perhaps to welcome her or perhaps to ease the worry on her face, "with all that being said, I want you to know that I will be around sometimes, you can come to me as well if you so desire."_

 _She glanced up, he eyes brightening when they looked into the eyes of the small, pink, plaything and she balanced the binder in one hand before taking the toy in her other. He could have sworn that he heard her breath hitch in surprise but perhaps that was just his imagination (no, he was right)._

 _"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft, I promise to be good" She then smiled at him and it was the most luminous thing that Mycroft had come to see in his monochromatic life. She then turned around and walked out._

 _Interesting._

He set her up with some clothing and enrolled her in school, leaving her in the custody of her new parent. He could have sent her to a foster home, but the logical part of his mind could only imagine the scandal that it would cause, plus the opposition that was clearly expressed by John and Mary Watson who had just had their own baby. He thought that everything would have played out itself after that, but he now realized, three years later, that he couldn't have been more wrong.

Looking back, he could _visibly_ see her light growing dim until she became practically a ghost. She grew untrusting, she grew desperate for some kind of attention and Mycroft realized that she was unhappy. But he did nothing.

He did nothing when he found out that Grace would only have dinner once every two or three days and breakfast almost never. She never complained and he never questioned. He did nothing when she showed up to a crime scene wearing a coat that was two sizes too small and boots that were sopping wet. He did nothing when he found her with a large bruise on her forehead after what seemed to have been a particularly difficult day in school, possibly from tripping and falling but probably because of the bullying that she had been enduring having been taken a step too far. He justified his blindness by simply thinking that it was because she never asked for help nor did she ever express outright discontent but he knew he was too smart to fool himself with that ruse.

But then when Moriarty took her. He couldn't do nothing anymore. He had the British Intelligence Services send him all footage from every camera in downtown London and he spent nights working with authorities to find a way to find the international criminal. When she was found, he spared no expense or withheld no threat to get her the top doctors and transfer her to a private room at St. Bart's.

He saw her when she woke up, looking like she had just been to Hell and back, he wished he was exaggerating when he said that that was probably not too far from the truth. She had a concussion, a high, almost fatal fever, pneumonia, PTSD among what the doctors assumed to have been a plethora of other repercussions that had been untreated for so long. He knew that there was nothing he couldn't stay on the sidelines and watch her fall apart any longer and one conversation was more than enough to determine that change will be taken.

 _Sherlock was still not ready to go see her so Mrs. Hudson had convinced Mycroft to go instead, despite his refusal. One look from John and he had already walked through the door._

 _"U-Uncle Mycroft?" she looked at him as he entered the room looking as prim as always, "you came to see me?"_

 _He ignored the question, "How are you feeling? Doctors are saying the fever is going down and that the pneumonia is no longer life-threatening. They believe that the IV can be removed in a few days."_

 _She looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy and Mycroft feared that she was about to start crying but she spoke in a soft voice instead, "I want to go."_

 _Mycroft looked at her confused, "you're not ready yet. Everything will be just as you left it when you are healthy enough to be discharged."_

 _"I want to go," she repeated, either not understanding his answer or not getting the one she wanted._

 _"If you are uncomfortable in this room then-"_

 _"No. I want to go. Disappear._ Leave. _Can you make me go? Please," and her voice cracked and Mycroft finally understood. He looked down at her hands to see something clenched in her fingertips. The pink bunny was threadbare now but she clearly held it like it was the most valuable thing in the world like it was the only thing holding her together – but much like himself, it was failing at doing so. She sounded so broken and he felt like retching._

 _"I… I," he didn't know what to do so he did what he did best. He did nothing, he walked away, briskly, leaving the little girl in her hospital bed. But before he could exit, he heard a small, stifled sob and he had never felt so monstrous._

 _He realized that he didn't see the sun that day._

He tried his best to fix this when her birthday rolled around, exploiting the hospital's higherups to get permission to arrange a little party in the hospital for her. He had no history in arranging birthday parties at all, his source of inspiration being some cheesy movie he remembered watching with his mum nearly three decades ago. He got her some gifts and some food that he knew she liked but nothing could take out that gnawing in his stomach and her words in his mind.

When he found Sherlock with the gifts and cake, he knew that he experienced a similar epiphany and they banded together for that afternoon put a smile back on her face because, for reasons that Mycroft couldn't understand, the smile was something he had longed to see. When she hugged him, he didn't know what to do with himself. All he did know was that the gnawing in his stomach had eased up for reasons that he didn't understand but for reasons that he knew that he needed to come to embrace.

Cut to four months later and he disdainfully acknowledged that she had him wrapped around her little pinky, bending every rule to heed to her every request. Not that she had many requests, she rarely asked for things and the things she did ask for ranged from a new book that she was interested in reading or new pencils for school. She asked for hugs and forehead kisses (and after some practice, he was more than happy to oblige), she asked for homework help (very rarely because she was a true gift in the academic world) and she asked for him to take her on walks in the park so that she could feed the ducks and pet the dogs.

But the sentiment still stood; he would bring her the stars if she asked.

He supposed that he could blame this attachment to one fateful afternoon. It was a simple afternoon really; just dissipating an underground drug cartel and perhaps spending some minutes on the elliptical, that is until he was called down to the main hall, where he was met with two bright blue-green eyes and a look of wonder as they took in the intricate surroundings. Those eyes met him and she gave him a hesitant smile, adjusting the strap of her backpack while doing so. It had been a month since the _incident_ and Sherlock, for the most part, had kept a sharp eye on the girl, even taking a week off from mysteries to help her recuperate, so it was strange to see her without him by her side.

 _"Hi, Uncle Mycroft. Dad said that there was some level 10 murder and told me that I had to stay with you. I'll stay quiet and if you need help, then I-I can do something for you, otherwise, I brought some books to read," Mycroft didn't know what to say (especially considering his little brother didn't bother telling him this information himself that prick). After everything that he had overlooked, she still looked at him with a face of innocence and blind acceptance. She must have noticed the look of confusion on his face and lost some of her confidence to doubt, "I-if this is a bad time, then-"_

 _"No! It's fine. Come upstairs, I have some Belgian pastries, perhaps you would like to try one?" he said nervously to which she nodded enthusiastically and took hold of his jacket as they made their way to the elevator, he supposed it was her way of ensuring that she wouldn't get lost but he couldn't help but feel as though it were his responsibility to protect her and ensure that she wouldn't get harmed._

 _In short, by the time Sherlock had come to pick Grace up, he found her curled up in Mycroft's lap as he sat in an office chair, both passed out from what looked like a hectic day of reading books, eating pastries and… making paper dolls (where had they, in this prestigious institution, found someone to permit Grace to use her glitter glue?). Sherlock decided that he would simply leave a text message, grab his daughter and depart to allow his brother to continue his nap. He didn't expect to be met with resistance from the two hands wrapped around her to keep her from falling and Mycroft's eyes snapping open to assess what was trying to take hold of his niece._

 _"Easy soldier, it's just me. The case ended up being less than a two," Sherlock deadpanned. Mycroft leaned back in relaxation but Sherlock noticed that his grip had not loosened on the sleeping girl in the least, "I take that it was an eventful afternoon and that you happened to survive her glitter frenzy," he noted as he flicked the dried-up neon green glue on his lobule. Mycroft didn't reply and looked down at the child instead. Within an instant, Sherlock realized what he was witnessing._

 _"You've grown attached. Your eyes are dilated, you're holding on to her as if she kept you from falling off the edge of the world, your hands trembled when I tried to take her away and-"_

 _"Don't be ridiculous brother-mine. I simply knew of the scandal that it would cause if she disappeared again. Simply trying to save face," and when Mycroft said that, he knew that that was the biggest lie that he had ever told._

 _Sherlock rolled his eyes, "and you spent the day making paper dolls with her because it would protect her from an intruder. My, aren't you a Bond reincarnate?" he paused, ignoring the indignant sputters from the other male and glanced down at the raven curls before continuing, "I've encountered a similar debacle actually. I spent three hours in the mind palace determining all of the possible results of leaving her here with you and John had to drag me out of the lobby. I… didn't know I was capable of feeling this but clearly, I never knew myself as well as I thought."_

 _He went to pick her up again, this time being met with no resistance. She shifted and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck while tucking her head into the side of his head, mumbling some nonsense as he adjusted her gently, "anyways. I'll take my leave now. Goodbye, brother," Sherlock made perhaps four meters (exactly three meters and 83 centimetres) before Mycroft spoke up._

 _"If you have another case, it would probably be best that she not be put in the line of fire until she is old enough to choose to do so for herself. You can… you can leave her here, if Mrs. Hudson or John or Mary are unavailable, of course. It would be better than leaving her with some babysitter or nanny. I can probably adjust my schedule." Drug cartel be damned. Morton could take care of it, he had employed all of those people for a reason, of course._

 _Sherlock smirked but offered no answer and turned to leave. Before the French doors had completely shut behind him, he saw Grace lift her head from Sherlock's shoulder for a brief second to offer him a smile and wave before she passed out once again and he stood alone in his spacious office, surrounded by glitter glue, paper dolls and a multitude of pastry crumbs._

 _The next day. he spent an extra 30 minutes on the elliptical._

That brought Mycroft to today, standing in front of the door to 221B Baker Street, holding a wrapped parcel in his hands. He had some work in America and happened to come back from his week-long affair with some news for Sherlock.

Admittedly though, he was more so there to see his little niece's smile (not that he would say that out loud). Within 4.25 seconds of knowing on the door, he heard feet padding towards the door and witnessed it swing open to reveal the raven girl in a pink blouse and dark blue jeans with said feet covered in pink socks. He hated to admit it but he missed this little human quite a bit, usually encountering her every few days if only for a few minutes at a time but a week now seemed too long without her. Even he had a hard time remembering the days when he didn't need to worry if she was eating enough or if she was expecting to do something when they convened at the "office" (actually, he always remembered it but they seemed more and more disdainful the longer that he dwelled on them).

"Uncle My! You're back. How was America?" she inquired enthusiastically as she jumped circles around him as he entered the flat. He let a small smile grace his face as he gathered her into his arms and left a small peck on the top of her head (when she giggled at the gesture, his heart swelled, metaphorically of course). She escaped his grasp and took his hand to drag him further into the flat.

From six months ago to today, the flat had undergone major renovations and changes, changing the overall atmosphere of the building from an evil villain lair to an evil villain playhouse. All of the lab supplies had been reallocated to a spare room underneath the main flat, equipped with its own little kitchenette for any absurd experiments Sherlock hoped to perform out of innocent eyes but the living room had now had a child safe lab in one corner consisting of microscopes, clean equipment and no loose limbs. The rest of the room was covered in Grace's art projects, books, toys and drawings (quite well drawn actually for a child her age… but he may be biased), not a hazardous material in sight.

The kitchen had been refurbished with new, clean equipment fit to cook food as well as a bowl of fresh fruit on the dinner table and a line of packaged snacks covering the kitchen counter. The refrigerator was covered with awards addressed to Grace Everest Holmes and drawing signed with her careful writing in the bottom left corner. He noted her new coats hanging in the closet, her shoes lining the wall next to the door and even some hair supplies on the coffee table. He watched as the child hopped onto the couch and wrapped a soft, grey blanket around her shoulders before patting the space next to her for Mycroft to sit as well, to which he obliged, allowing her to curl up into his side.

One year ago, even half a year ago, the notion that he would have been sitting here, _cuddling_ would have brought side-splitting laughter from everyone who had known him. But with one look at the sweet girl, no one could even question it. Half a year ago, Graco would probably have been alone in her less than standard room, trying to grasp onto some form of warmth as cold air blasted into her room from the broken window, maybe figuring out how to buy a month's worth of food with ten pounds or sitting by herself wondering what she had done to be so alone. She may have been curled up in the sorry excuse for a cot and suppressing coughs and sneezes, knowing that no one would come to check on her. She would be walking home alone in below 20 weather, replaying all the criticism that she did nothing to deserve replaying in her mind like a terrible song.

Five months ago, he would have had to stare at her lifeless body on a slab in the morgue, covered in frostbite and succumbing to an abundance of sicknesses as she sat alone in some cemetery because Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes had failed to save her from a psychopath. She would have had dried tears on her pale skin, and he would have had live with knowing that he did nothing when she needed somebody – _anybody_ to do something.

But now, she was here, snacking on some Hula Hoops while watching some irrelevant nature documentary on amphibians, placing faith in him to keep her safe if anything were to happen as if he had given her any reason to have such trust in him.

He would have to work his whole life to earn that trust and he still may come up short.

"Daddy is in the lab, he should be up any second-," and just as she said that he came bursting in with an annoyed grimace on his face which only deepened when he laid eyes on his brother.

"Hello brother, I wish I had the patience to deal with you but John and Mary are at Adam's doctor appointment so unless this is a level 7 or above, please leave," he stated brusquely brushing nail powder off of his shoulder before discarding his gloves, "and you, daughter, should not be eating those before dinner, I'm going to have to hide those," he said while counterintuitively taking some from her bowl and popping them into his mouth.

"Daddy, you shouldn't be so mean to Uncle My. He might have something important to say for the British government," she chided, putting the bowl of snacks down and packing her homework away into her bag. She was convinced that Mycroft basically owned the whole United Kingdom if not the world and as strange as it was to be addressed as a "supreme leader" once too often, his lips quirked in amusement.

"Well I have no information that cannot wait, but I do have something for Grace from my travels," and for the first time, her eyes gravitated to the box in his hands.

"F-for me?" she asked, clearly confused as she pointed a finger at herself, "why?"

Now he could have said something sentimental to let her know that he thought of her every day while he stayed in New York but instead he cleared his throat and said, "Anthea saw it in some shop window and thought that you would like it so I decided to present it here to you."

"Thank you, Uncle My, but you don't have to lie to me. I missed you too," Grace smiled and took the box, watching her uncle turn red and her father snicker from the kitchen. She sat at the dinner table and began to unwrap the crisp silver wrapping paper in excitement. He watched her expression morph for curiosity to absolute shock as she opened the box and pulled out a small, delicate jewelry box. He watched as she ran her fingers along the porcelain flowers lining the lid. He took it from her hands and turned the knob in the bottom a few times before giving it back to her.

"Open it," he suggested gently and so she did, gasping softly as she heard the lulling tune of Frédéric Chopin's Nocturne in B-flat minor played to overtake the silence in the kitchen. Mycroft looked up to see Sherlock looking at him with a strange look before he turned to look at the wondrous eyes that turned to look at him in shock, causing him to softly smile and give her a nod.

As if to let her know that she deserved something like that.

"I take it that you like it?" Mycroft inquired half-seriously. She looked at him like he had grown a second head at suggesting there was a possibility that she didn't.

"It's absolutely wonderful Uncle Mycroft, more beautiful than anything I could have imagined… but it looks so expensive… you've already done so much for me, this is too much and I don't-," but she didn't make it too far.

"Ms. Grace Everest Holmes, if you are to imply that you don't deserve valuable things, I'm sorry to say that you are gravely mistaken. Besides, if you like it then there's no need to put a price tag on it. Now go put it in your room and come back down for dinner," he glanced at Sherlock and then back at her and with a grin, they both said, "baked ziti" at the same time before he continued, "I have to go.

At that, Grace's face fell, "could you stay for dinner. If you aren't busy, that is. John, Mary and Adam should be here soon and dad always orders too much," it took one reluctant nod towards him from his little brother before he caved and projected it back to his niece who immediately brightened and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before taking the treasure into her hand and dashing to put it in her room. As soon as he left, his brother opened his big mouth an began his deduction.

"When you say that there's no need to put a price tag on it, I think you that you mean that wherever it came from clearly did not seem like the kind of institution that would do so. That's a nineteenth-century Charles Bruguier original and that gold lining is definitely real. Not to mention that porcelain is probably manufactured at least 300 years ago, Chinese ceramic by the looks of it. That belongs came from a museum and definitely not from some random store along 32nd street," he rambled, "that flower style is from Indian clay work in Agra meaning that the box has seen parts of the world. If I had to guess, and I never guess, that box is worth $56 000 and currently is on a dresser next to Hello Kitty hairbrush."

Mycroft smirked, "you are quite wrong brother mine, it is probably worth much more. The inside is lined with sapphires from Madagascar and in 1978 when it was taken to America, they also added Arizonian peridots. Bruguier was likely to have used silk threat for the internal embroidery not to mention that that box had been a stolen Nazi treasure for over 3 decades."

The consulting detective bristled as he listened to the missed details, "Alright but once again, is it best to give to a nine-year-old girl? Of course, I wouldn't hesitate to spend any amount on her but that artifact is a national treasure and while sentimentality is but a nuisance, I'm sure that the American government probably did not feel the same way when you took that as your… ahem, payment."

Mycroft glanced as the wonder came bounding back into the kitchen and he felt his heart melt just a little bit (metaphorically, of course… but at this point, it may be quite literally as well), "Perhaps, but unlike that trinket, the new owner is very much priceless."

So yes, Mycroft Holmes opposed developing any emotional connections at almost a spiritual level. There was no point to it and he seemed to have been making it just fine without them.

But then came Grace Everest Holmes; a little shining light that opened his eyes and blinded him at the same time. When she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, whispering thanks under her breath, he decided that perhaps there wasn't any shame in attachments. Especially when that attachment was to a girl that made the world so much better just by being in it.

 **Until Next Time!**

 **xoxo,**

 **Everythingisawesome001**


End file.
